


All the men and women merely players

by dutchmoxie



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Musicals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-01-19 07:37:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 38,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12405957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchmoxie/pseuds/dutchmoxie
Summary: Nathaniel Plimpton doesn't love theater. He's seen a ton of Broadway shows (networking reasons), he's a better ballroom dancer than anyone in his class (debutante balls), and he's the male lead in his school's production of Cinderella (blackmail). Rebecca Bunch has been the lead in every show since freshman year, and she's not amused.





	1. Don't let me be your star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cori_the_bloody](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cori_the_bloody/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



CHAPTER ONE: Don’t let me be your star

His father would not approve. Any after school activities had to involve money or networking - that’s why he’d been in Future Business Leaders of America since the fifth grade. It is why he’d started attending networking events in kindergarten. Diversifying his interests to appeal to colleges was completely unnecessary. His father would get him in anywhere close enough to keep an eye on him - Stanford was at the top of Plimpton Senior’s list.

So telling his father he’d been forcibly enlisted into Rodgers Academy’s theater program, yeah he’d prefer for this to remain a secret for the rest of his natural born life. Because if (please, not when) his father found out, that natural born life would end very shortly.

But not joining the theater program stopped being an option when he was caught deflowering the pastor’s daughter under the stands in the auditorium. Mr. Whitefeather was not above blackmail.

Auditioning for the school musical became mandatory. Casting a mere formality - he would be on that stage, humiliated in front of the entire school, no matter how badly he tanked his audition. He might as well do himself proud and be the best actor and singer their school had ever seen.

Yes, he had heard of Rebecca Nora Bunch before the cast list went up. She was a notorious theater freak with a serious lady boner for Josh Chan, the football captain who for some reason called everyone his bro. She’d also gotten the lead in every show ever since she walked into Rodgers Academy freshman year looking like she masturbated to the Glee soundtrack.

Honestly, she was more driven than actually talented. He’d been to enough Broadway shows to tell the difference - really, the theater was a great place to network.

So he wasn’t all that impressed when the cast list for Cinderella went up and her name was right next to the famous princess. It didn’t have anything to do with his name being next to Prince Topher - he could have chemistry with a rock if necessary.

He just figured that if Mr. Whitefeather was truly that desperate for a win, he might actually shake things up for once. Or maybe he just didn’t have enough dirt on the rest of the school. Or maybe Rebecca Bunch had too much dirt on him - Nathaniel would not put it past her to blackmail her teacher into giving her the lead. She’d obviously identified with Sharpay when watching High School Musical.

Not that he’d ever seen the movies. Or heard any of the surprisingly catchy songs.

“Nathaniel,” he suddenly heard her right next to him.

She even pronounced his name in that old-timey voice she used to sound more dignified. It made his dick actually shrivel up inside his body.

“Bunch,”’ he nodded.

No way she needed to know that he knew her full name. Using her first name would imply that they were equals, and they were anything but. Plimptons were always superior - they were the Malfoys of this city.

“I see you’ve developed a sudden interest in the theatre,” she continued to talk to him in that ridiculous voice.

“Someone had to show you how it’s done.”

Plimptons always had to have the last line.

Exit, pursued by an angry theater freak.

* * *

It was going to be hard enough to fake any sort of chemistry with that… embodiment of everything that was wrong with the world. Sure, she was an Actress, but surely even Meryl herself had her limits! Surely not even Barbra and Bernadette, not even Idina could work opposite someone as Wrong as Nathaniel Plimpton the Third.

The name alone made her want to gag. Such pretension!

Really, what was Mr. Whitefeather thinking? Surely the divorce was getting to him. This was just a midlife crisis expressing itself in the worst way.

Why didn’t the man just buy an expensive penis metaphor like all the other idiots instead of ruining her life?

And why did Greg have to graduate and leave for Emory? He was no Josh Chan, but he was certainly an accomplished singer who could almost hold his own against her many talents.

All the men in her life just abandoned her. Even Robert left her - okay, so she was the one who told the principal, but he was not going to leave his wife for her (she was eighteen, it was legal!), so what else was a girl to do except get him fired?

The only person who was even remotely supportive of her was Paula - Mrs. Proctor. She had to remember to call her that at school.

“I need your help,” she dropped into her chair.

Yes, she had a thrice-weekly standing appointment with the guidance counselor. It started as a condition for her staying at the school after the fire and the Robert situation, but by now she and Paula were basically best friends. Just because they couldn’t actually wear the bracelets Paula had made at school, didn’t make it any less true.

“Did you get the part?” Paula immediately dropped everything. “Of course you did, Cookie, you’re the most talented person in this school. Just don’t tell any of the other students that I said that.”

This was what friendship was like: unconditional support. So what if it came from the almost middle aged guidance counselor at her high school?

“I got the part,” she huffed. “But clearly Mr. Whitefeather is in some sort of crisis, because he cast that, that… that pompous butthead as Prince Topher. How can a one-dimensional douche like Nathaniel Plimpton do justice to a romantic hero?”

Prince Topher was supposed to be likeable, and while Nathaniel Plimpton was a lot of things, likeable certainly was not one of them. Arrogant? Definitely. Pompous? Certainly. Vain? Indubitably. Despicable? Absolutely. Attractive? Maybe in the right light, if he kept his mouth shut (or otherwise occupied) for longer than five seconds. But likeable? Hell no.

“I didn’t know he was interested in pursuing theater,” Paula clearly smelled a nefarious plot, and Rebecca couldn’t blame her for that.

“Me neither,” she huffed. “I’m not even sure that he’s interested in anything other than ruining my life.”

Obviously that was his reason for pursuing this - had he ever shown interest in anything that did not involve money or sex before?

Was this She’s All That? Did he make a bet with one of his cronies that he could sleep with her? Clearly he was underestimating her considerable brains, because she’d been saving herself for the moment Josh Chan finally realized she was his soulmate. It was bound to happen soon.

“Ugh, why are we still talking about him?” Rebecca was over it, for now. “We should be talking about the love of my life and how he’s totally going to dump Valencia any day now. Not that I’m rooting for another woman’s pain, because that’s totally unfeminist of me, but clearly they just don’t make each other happy.”

Paula nodded sagely - she’d been witness to many a Jolencia (patent pending) fight, often managing to have Rebecca near Josh when he needed someone to console him. Really, the woman was a gift and Rebecca did not know what she’d done in this life or a previous one to deserve a gem like Paula Proctor.

“I hear he has been visiting with Father Joseph more often,” Paula let the gossip slip with a gleeful smile.

Technically the visits with the school chaplain were completely confidential, but Paula could find out if she claimed to be concerned about a student. Paula had access to every single one of Josh’s records and files. Paula had all the intel and the know-how to use said intel to greatly improve Rebecca’s life.

“Seeking divine counsel,” Rebecca tried really hard to ignore that the love of her life was a _gentile_. “It means he really is in the middle of a personal crisis.”

It had to have something to do with the way he looked at her last time she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and told him that he deserved happiness. He’d leaned in a bit more than usual, and she’d smelled his body wash and his hair product (she’d already made a note of his preferred brands ages ago) before he pulled away because they were still in a public hallway. He just couldn’t hurt Valencia’s feelings like that - how noble of him.

Josh Chan was a good man. A kind man.

“Just like we planned,” Paula’s grin had a touch of villainy about it.

They laughed madly, their cackles echoing against the office’s windows, freaking out Geoff the office aid. Yeah, Geoff, that was his name.

Ugh, forget him. He wasn’t important, barely rated a speaking role in the world of Rebecca Nora Bunch.

No, Josh Chan was clearly the male lead in the story of her life.

* * *

The first official rehearsal for Cinderella was an absolute disaster.

How these people had ever managed to put on any show, he really wasn’t sure. With the new additions who’d clearly been blackmailed into this as well, head bitch Valencia Perez and that Heather girl who always seemed stoned, Mr. Whitefeather’s associates might stand a chance of doing something decent. It was an extremely small chance, though.

After Weirdo Karen’s seemingly serious question about a part for her pet snake, he’d pretty much given up on spending his precious time in any kind of useful manner.

He’d already forgotten all of their names not five minutes after the ridiculous ice breaker games they’d been forced to play. That still did not stop any of the unproductive dweebs from wanting to be his friend.

Sure, he got it. He was talented, wealthy, and a good connection to have. They just did not have anything to offer him in return - he wasn’t interested in friendship. What would he get out of it? It wouldn’t help him get to Stanford, wouldn’t help him into law school and then into a prime position at his father’s firm.

Really, he was here to do his time and then bail without his father ever knowing.

“Nathaniel,” damn Bunch actually cornered him after rehearsal.

Again with the voice.

“Cut that out,” he rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t hide from your lack of talent. I suggest wearing more low-cut tops, to show off your other… gifts.”

He made it a point to look down at her, trying to get a peek down her shirt - but of course she was once again dressed like a real life librarian, when she should have been dressing like the porn version.

Maybe then Josh Chan would pull his head out of his ass. Clearly he didn’t want to be with his bitchy girlfriend.

Ugh, monogamy. Just the thought of it made him reach for the disinfectant gel in his bookbag. He’d had to touch too many of these losers already - maybe feelings would catch.

The chase, that was his true and only love. After all, men were hunters by nature. One and done, and then he completely lost interest.

Speaking of losing interest...

“I wasn’t done with you,” Bunch was apparently still talking.

“I’m sure you have plenty of fascinating things to tell me,” he made a point to check the time on his Rolex. “Some of us actually have places to be.”

Like the gym - he was feeling rather bloated today. Clearly the new chef had not been notified about the strict dietary restrictions in his diet. He was sure he could taste actual butter, and that just wouldn’t do.

Perhaps he’d have to prepare some kale shakes, just in case the chef didn’t get the memo.

“You’re talented,” she stalled him.

“I know,” he didn’t even grin.

“Ugh,” she crossed her arms over her ample, ample chest. “You’re the embodiment of every private school dick movie cliche. I know you don’t care about me either, but we have to put on a good show - my life depends on it!”

He heard maybe thirty percent of what she said, too busy staring at the way her crossed arms pushed up her chest. He’d certainly made an excellent point about the low-cut tops. Maybe then she’d get some people to like her, and not just the teachers.

“Still talking,” she snapped her fingers at him.

“Still not interested,” he shot back, briefly making the effort to look at her face.

She was a little hotter when she was angry - a little less tragic and pathetic. Shame she was too chubby to even consider banging her. She seemed like she needed someone to fuck that stick out of her ass, stat.

“I know Mr. Whitefeather has something on you,” she stopped him from leaving.

“And?”

That didn’t rattle him in the slightest.

“You’re already risking your reputation,” she had nothing to say that he didn’t already know. “So why not have some self-respect and put on the best show you possibly can?”

Clearly he was not the one who had issues with self-respect. No person with any kind of self-esteem pined for Mr. If I Only Had A Brain for four years.

“And you think I’d need you for that?” he scoffed.

Maybe she was moderately more talented than the rest of the cast, and maybe she was the only one actually willing to put in the work.

But was he actually that desperate?

“We’re the leads,” Bunch made her final arguments. “If we work well together, it’ll lift the whole production to a new level.”

“Not interested,” he finally made his escape.

As if he’d voluntarily spend more time with any of those people. He had more than enough talent all by himself.

* * *

It really was a beautiful day.

Finally, it had happened. One minute she was just sitting alone at lunch, memorizing her lines in her first big song, and just a few minutes later she was in the janitor’s closet with Joshua Felix Chan. And they were KISSING!

Okay, so he hadn’t broken up with Valencia (yet!), but she just knew that locking lips with her had totally changed his world. He’d looked dazed afterwards, when they finally stepped out of the closet.

Of course he went first and she had to wait a few minutes, but still! The lips of Rebecca Nora Bunch had actually touched those of Joshua Felix Chan.

She just loved saying his full name, almost as much as she liked the name Rebecca Chan. Chan-Bunch? Yeah, maybe hyphenating wasn’t such a bad idea. Because fuck the patriarchy.

“You’re late,” Nathaniel was actually in time for rehearsal.

“And you’re not,” she made sure the surprise was audible.

Hell, she was mostly surprised that he was here at all. He made it very clear that he did not consider himself to be a part of the group, and that he did not want to be here. (Note to self: find out what kind of dirt Mr. Whitefeather had on him)

“A Plimpton is never late,” he recited the words without inflection.  

“Who coined those pearls of wisdom?” she scoffed.

There was no response, just a tightening of his jaw that told her that it was probably his terrible father. Clearly, someone who acted like Nathaniel Plimpton did with women had some serious father issues.

And well, like did call to like.

At least his father told him some things.

“Good to see you’ve learned something about responsibility,” she didn’t like the broken look in his eyes.

“I won’t be the only one learning something,” he made it sound like a warning.

Really? Was he going to teach her a lesson? Unless it was about being an unprincipled jackass, she wasn’t going to learn a thing. He wasn’t all that.

“I’m terrified,” she rolled her eyes at him.

“Alright idiots, listen up,” Nathaniel demanded the attention of the entire group. “Mr. Whitefeather will probably be late again - Mr. Wilson was wearing a tank again and the man is too weak to keep from staring.”

Wow, Nathaniel actually had a point there - Josh Wilson was a really nice specimen, and ever since Mr. Whitefeather had come out as bi at the end of last year, he’d been all too interested in their new gym teacher. Personally, Rebecca didn’t see it, even when people had pointed out how much he looked like Josh Chan.

Clearly Josh Chan was superior to the judgmental chipmunk. Mr. Wilson did not like her at all, and she took offense. So what if she conveniently got a mental health crisis every time jumping or running was involved? She had to protect her classmates - her boobs were actually going to kill someone someday.

Denise Martinez’s eye injury had been proof enough of that.

“We’re starting practice without him,” Nathaniel was really trying to make the drill sergeant look work for him. “Warm ups, now! None of you are fit enough to dance and sing at the same time. Start running!”

Well, not everyone could be as fit as Nathaniel Plimpton himself - seriously, it was kind of worrying how much time he allegedly spent in the gym. Not counting the times he spent exercising with impressionable young girls, of course.

Ugh, gross. Sweaty, semi-naked Nathaniel. Why did her brain even do that to her?

“That includes you, Bunch,” Nathaniel’s gaze fell on her. “Start moving!”

What? She wasn’t one of those unprofessional idiots - she was in shape. Round was a shape, and she wasn’t going to develop any more body image issues just because Nathaniel Plimpton took offense to a woman with actual meat on her bones.

“I have better breath control than you do, asswipe,” she hollered at him, pretending she wasn’t a little bit out of breath from her fast-walk in his direction.

Crap, okay, maybe the asswipe had a point about the running.

* * *

He was not still thinking about what the running had done to Rebecca Bunch’s chest. He’d not been completely distracted by it, and he hadn’t stared at all.

Okay, he had, but he was only human.

At least he hadn’t made inappropriate comments, like Freaking Karen. Was there any way he could just kick her out of the show, or out of the school entirely? He knew she’d been held back twice already, but it was high time she left.

Just, the woman had no boundaries, and she’d clearly made Rebecca more than a bit uncomfortable. Bunch. She made Bunch uncomfortable.

She hated him by practice’s end, because he was more effective at making her move than Mr. Wilson had been in weeks. He just wasn’t going to hear any of her outlandish excuses - he just challenged her, basically daring her into doing the work. She hated being made to feel like she was worse than her classmates at something.

Not that he could relate to that or anything.

Because he was actually better than all of his classmates - it was just one of the many facts of life that came with being a Plimpton.

Like his fantastic memory, which was currently helping him in his prep for the next Cinderella rehearsal. Words came easily to him, remembering exact phrases had always helped him with his father.

Strict was not a strong enough word for his old man.

“Nathaniel?”

Speak of the devil and he shall use the intercom to be terrifyingly present. He hated it when Father managed to interrupt one of the few moments of peace and quiet he had in a day - and they’d gotten even more rare since the whole blackmail-induced theater escapades had started.

“Yes father?” he spoke into the receiver.

This was never a good sign. His father made it a habit never to interfere in his life unless he felt like there was something that needed improving.

Clearly, he’d failed again.

“You were home late today,” the accusation was obvious.

Really, Father never even needed to ask the question. As a good son, he was obliged to explain his actions in a satisfactory manner.

Well, time to see if he was good at lying to his father. He knew he was failing him just by having to lie, but he didn’t see another way. There was no way out of this that left him in a single piece, other than to lie.

And the best lies stuck close to the truth.

“I was tutoring some fellow students,” he squeezed his hand into a fist and focused on keeping his breathing steady.

Never volunteer any extra information, real events weren’t actually like a perfect story from a film - he’d researched lying quite extensively so he would know. And keeping it simple made it less likely that he’d get caught up in his own lies.

“What subject?” his father just had to pry.

“Biology,” he’d already thought of the proper subject.

It was part of the sciences, so not considered too frivolous and a waste of his time, yet also not something his father was an expert at - Plimpton senior knew economics and law and cared for little else.

Not even his son.

“Are you still on top of your own school work?” of course that was the real issue.

“Of course father,”

“Your work comes first,” Father issued the final warning. “I’m sure none of the other students are in line to study at an Ivy League university.”

And none of these other students were Plimptons with reputations to maintain - if he didn’t get into a college that was acceptable to his family, that would be the end of him. His father had never specifically stated what would happen to him, but that just made it all the more terrifying. He had to get in - there was no other option.

“Bunch is,” he muttered.

“What was that, Nathaniel?”

His father hated it when people didn’t enunciate properly.

“Rebecca Bunch,” he hated himself for even mentioning her. “One of the students. She is applying to the Ivies and several competitive cultural programs. Sir.”

His father shouldn’t be aware of Bunch’s existence, but he’d done it now. And he didn’t even know why - why did he even mention Bunch in the first place? Sure, he’d just spent time with her, but that shouldn’t matter. He’d been on the phone with his father during quite a couple trysts, and he’d never felt the slightest urge to ever mention the girl in question.

So why Bunch?

“At least you have some people in your life with a good head on their shoulders,” his father ended the conversation.

Of course Father had to have the last word, leaving him to laugh silently in his room.

Bunch never thought with the head on her shoulders. She thought with her libido and her heart and her fantasies.

And it was not an endearing feature, damn it.

* * *

Josh and Valencia had broken up, and it was all because of her.

She probably should be feeling some sort of guilt, but instead all she could think about was what this meant for her own future with Josh.

It meant that she actually had a real future with Josh - it was not just contingent upon him realizing that he wasn’t meant to be with Valencia, now it was real. He’d kissed her, he’d seen her, and then his relationship ended.

Sure, he hadn’t talked to her and she’d had to hear it through the grapevine, but she could afford to give him a day or two to settle his affairs before he finally asked her to be his new girlfriend. It gave her time to primp and look her best when he did ask.

And he would ask any day now, any hour, any minute.

This was how it was supposed to go when she finally got her happily ever after, just like in that movie Slumbered. The whole world was going to fall away until there was nothing except for her and Josh. And then he would tell her he loved her, more than he’d ever loved anyone and they’d date and live happily ever after and she’d thank him when she won her first Tony before the age of thirty.

“Bunch, are you even still paying attention?”

Ugh, there went that dream.

Instead of spending time with the man of her dreams, she was forced to spend the next hour and a half working solely with Nathaniel Plimpton. Talk about a buzzkill.

“I have danced before,” she carefully avoided actually answering the question.

Because the answer was actually no - of course she was not paying attention to the asswipe currently looming over her. He was all up in her personal space for this stupid dance routine that Mr. Wilson was making them learn.

Apparently it was vitally important that Mr. Wilson help out with this - or more likely, it was vitally important to Mr. Whitefeather that he dance with the gym teacher to provide some kind of good example that they didn’t really need. She was an extremely qualified dancer and not even Nathaniel Plimpton could make her look like an idiot.

“So, no,” he smirked down at her.

How dare he use his superior height to look down on her?

“Lucky for you, I’ve been doing ballroom for years,” Nathaniel clasped her hand gently in his and laid his other hand on the small of her back.

Following is almost automatic, placing her arm over his so that she is gently grasping his shoulder. She learned proper posture at a very young age, and she’s been watching princesses dance since she could remember.

Wait, what? Nathaniel Plimpton, douche of the highest degree has been doing ballroom for years?

“What?” she finally responded.

“You guys are doing really well so far,” Mr. Wilson seemed more than a little surprised.

Mr. Wilson and Mr. Whitefeather were in the exact same position, and they were both clearly a lot more affected by it than she was - or Nathaniel, because his posture was still ramrod straight. He almost looked like the perfectly polished prince he was supposed to be, only he was a little too… stiff.

“Let’s try a few steps,” Mr. Wilson continued.

Could Josh dance like this, she wondered. Perhaps it was possible to suggest him as a practice partner - or at least she could use that excuse with Josh. She’d love to dance with him like this, or even closer than this.

“Don’t forget the proper distance,” Mr. Whitefeather reminded them. “I know you youngsters like to get close, but there has to be room for the dress.”

Yes, she would actually get to wear a ballgown - just like she’d always dreamed of wearing ever since she was a little girl. Her mother would never let her wear the traditional princess costumes, instead forcing her to play act as businesswomen. Sure, she understood the feminist leanings, but princesses were not inherently less feminist.

If only her mother understood that.

“It’s huge,” Mr. Wilson was almost dismissive. “Ridiculously huge.”

All this time, she was still touching Nathaniel, but the second anyone remarked on the distance, Nathaniel moved back another inch. Clearly, he couldn’t wait to get away from her even now.

Screw him - she didn’t like him either, but at least she could be professional about the whole situation. She’d much rather be with Josh.

“Bunch,” Nathaniel rudely drew her from her daydreams.

“What?”

“Would you mind actually looking at the steps Mr. Whitefeather is showing you?” Plimpton sounded physically pained. “Not just for my feet’s sake.”

Oh right, now that she wasn’t thinking about Josh, she realized that because she kept moving in the wrong direction, she and Nathaniel kept bumping into each other. Her breasts smushed into his chest, him looking down at her with blazing eyes…

Wow, she really needed to dance with Josh some time. Nathaniel was great practice.

Copying Mr. Whitefeather’s steps was kind of easy. She had a natural gift for moving in time with the count of the waltz, plus she wasn’t nearly as into her partner as her teacher was. How obvious could a man get?

“Remember, this is their first meeting,” Mr. Whitefeather was more than a little flustered. “This is all about that first spark, the chemistry between these two characters.”

And that’s where the acting came in - she had no interest in Nathaniel, and he seemed just about ready to bust out the disinfectant. He tensed every single time she broke form and his eyes were on the horizon somewhere.

They were supposed to be selling romance. Not that Nathaniel Plimpton would know the meaning of that word.

“Alright, on to the next part,” Mr. Whitefeather was the only happy person present. “Miss Bunch, I’m sure you’ve seen every version of Pride and Prejudice? This is a lot like those dances.”

Finally, Nathaniel gets his much needed distance. He actually started breathing easier the second it became clear the next part involved touching with one arm only. They were to press their hands together, with a slightly increasing distance to the elbow down. And then it was just turns back and forth to switch arms.

Very minimal contact, just Nathaniel’s style when it came to her. Not when it came to every “hot” girl at the school, because he would be all over them.

Wow, that almost made it sound like she wanted Nathaniel to touch her. To speak in the words of the immortal icon Cher Horowitz: as if!

Nathaniel Plimpton was no Josh Chan, even though he was definitely being the Mr. Darcy to her Elizabeth Bennet at this point.

What? Every girl had a Pride and Prejudice fantasy at some point - and she’d have it again in her bed tonight while she thought of a more suitable mister Darcy. Josh wasn’t really the brooding type, but that’s why they were called fantasies.

“We’ll work on the transitions later,” Mr. Whitefeather was barely looking at them now, too busy focusing on Mr. Wilson’s arms. “This is just to see which patterns work for me… work for you.”

So obvious, Mr. Whitefeather. So very obvious.

“Right,” Mr. Wilson coughed and took a step back. “There’s a few more moves to try out.”

Like the ones he clearly wanted to try out with Mr. Whitefeather. Honestly, she was pretty sure that the interest was mutual, but they just weren’t acting on it.

Oh - side project! Now that she and Josh were going to live happily ever after, she might as well enlist Paula’s help with matchmaking for another couple. Paula was scary good at getting people together - or keeping them apart if she deemed it necessary.

“This one is a little bit closer,” Mr. Wilson continued, “but it’s right from the Broadway show, so it’s probably pretty appropriate for a formal ball.”

Instead of leading by example- Mr. Whitefeather looked really disappointed - Mr. Wilson guided their hands into the correct positions. Both Nathaniel and herself had an arm wrapped around the other’s waist, pressing their bodies rather closely together. Or at least, really pressing her boobs into his arm while they took a turn around the floor.

Nathaniel had tensed up again, just from her hand on his waist and them almost being in each other’s personal space. How could she work with this?

“Just a little while longer before you can get the disinfectant,” she hissed at him, trying to keep the teachers from overhearing.

“You’re missing the point, Bunch,” Nathaniel still wasn’t looking at her, jaw clenched.

This part was supposed to look like they were flying, like they moved together effortlessly. And sure, this was only the first dance rehearsal, but this was like pulling her body through quicksand, heavy and slow and syrupy.

But somehow it wasn’t entirely bad. Weird.

“Next position, Mr. Wilson,” Nathaniel’s voice seemed more gravelly now.

They’d stopped spinning - although it didn’t really feel like that - and Nathaniel had stepped back. What was up with him?

“So, this will be like a dip,” Mr. Wilson instructed, equally eager to get this over with. “Basic ballroom pose, then move both your arms around her waist, Mr. Plimpton. Miss Bunch, you will be leaning back in his hold.”

Even now, when they were supposed to be standing closer than ever, he was holding back, every muscle in his body resisting her presence in his personal space. For someone who got laid basically all the time, the guy was just really freaking tense.

And when he was supposed to be holding her considerable weight, as he’d remarked on several times now, she did not need him to be stiffer than the Tin Man. Sure, he needed to stand strong, but in a way that spoke of fluidity, of grace, of romance.

This was a pure fight or flight response, and flight was definitely winning.

“You can pull her a bit closer, Mr. Plimpton,” Mr. Wilson eyed them carefully.

Suddenly every bit of distance between the two of them was gone. The tension in his muscles was still there, and she figured that the only way to go here was to trust him with this tiny bit.

Trusting a man - yeah, this was going to be impossible.

And then he looked her in the eyes, finally, those blue eyes screaming fear. When he saw the fear returned in hers - he must have seen it - he softened.

“I’ve got you,” he mouthed.

His hands were warm, burning through her shirt, but she just kept looking into his eyes as she slowly gave herself over to him, putting herself in his hands until she no longer had to hold up her own weight.

It was terrifying and exhilarating, and somehow safe.

Nathaniel Plimpton was an elitist asshole, but he was not going to drop her. So she relaxed in his grip, and tried not to think about how she was basically pushing her boobs up in the direction of his face.

He was trying not to look, occasionally sneaking guilty glances at her chest but then quickly returning to look in her eyes.

She was warm all over, heating up even quicker when she started to feel something insistently pressing against her thigh. It became almost impossible not to blush, and her wide eyes found his immediately.

“Excellent job, you two,” Mr. Whitefeather broke the silence.

That made Nathaniel break eye contact, slowly but surely pulling her into a regular standing position - except this meant that they were standing so closely pressed against each other that she could feel exactly how big his… interest was.

Big was an understatement - she’d suspect him of padding but there was no way to get away with that when she was pressed up against every inch of him.

“Is that the time?” Nathaniel almost ran out of the room.

She was left with a pounding heart and a heaving chest, and a hankering to go see Josh. If this was what it was like with someone she hated, it had to be even better with the love of her life.

Right?


	2. Get your head outta the game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a lot of denial and Nathaniel uses the words dick aneurysm.

The Gods were punishing him for something, that much was obvious. 

For some disgusting reason his body had suddenly decided to be attracted to one Rebecca Nora Bunch. After all the time he spent taking care of himself, of his body, it was now suddenly rebelling against him and his wishes. 

And by taking care of his body he did indeed mean the occasional bout of masturbation if there were no willing girls available. And lately there had been very few girls who had met his exacting standards. There just weren’t any tens - or even nines - left at Rodgers Academy who he hadn’t already banged. 

Very disappointing. 

But the lack of female company did not mean that his body had to have a dick aneurysm and decide that it was suddenly attracted to Bunch of all people. 

There had to be something medically wrong with him. 

She was annoying, not all that attractive, and completely uninterested in him as a person or as a sexual object. Well, okay maybe not that last one because he could have sworn that he saw a hint of interest in her eyes at that fateful rehearsal. 

Wishful thinking? Not at all. He didn’t actually want her to show any interest - sure, it was super flattering to his ego to think that even a theater geek like her would totally want to bang him, and maybe she’d want to let him get up close and personal with that chest, and… wait, what was he saying?

Right, he didn’t actually want her to be interested. Because he wasn’t interested either. This was just a boner aneurysm. A one time, involuntary bodily response that had nothing to do with actual interest in Bunch. 

It was never going to happen again - yeah, as long as it didn’t happen again he was totally fine. There was no need to get dramatic about it. 

Clearly being around the dweebs had infected him with their drama. One inconvenient boner did not a real interest make, he just had to remember that. 

He’d just turned eighteen - anything could make him pop a boner. Linoleum could do it - so there was no point in reading into this one awkward moment with Bunch. Not at all. 

Except he was forced to be around her all the damn time now. 

“Nathaniel,” she found him in the hallway. “I know you’re embarrassed to be seen with me in public, but Mr. Whitefeather called an extra practice for this Saturday, and you are the only person who refuses to be part of our group chat.” 

It was best not to look at her, just to be sure that there weren’t any residual effects of that dance rehearsal. 

“Group chats are unprofessional and a waste of my time,” he dug into his locker with a vengeance. “What is the extra rehearsal for?” 

He was supposed to spend Saturday either making valuable connections or splitting it between the gym and his homework. Responsibilities always came first, and surely Father was going to get suspicious soon. 

This was what living on borrowed time felt like. 

“Something about teambuilding,” Bunch was standing a little too close. “The relationships have to feel real, according to him.” 

The relationship felt real enough when her boobs were practically in his face, but if Mr. Whitefeather needed more from them, he could probably make that happen. 

As long as he did not actually have to spend any time with the other idiots that were in the group. He did not need to be doing any trust exercises - he didn’t trust any of these idiots, except maybe Bunch. 

Ugh, no. Why was that thought even in his head? 

“And he couldn’t tell us this in rehearsal about five minutes from now?” he just now made that connection. 

He blamed Bunch’s surprisingly low-cut top for his inability to focus. Of course, now that Josh Chan was supposedly single again, she had to start making an effort. 

Not that he minded the new look. 

“You know he’ll be too busy staring at Mr. Wilson to remember anything else,” Bunch was almost smiling. “Wanna walk to rehearsal together?” 

This was getting way too ridiculously high school for his tastes. Was she going to ask him to carry her books next? 

“Why?” 

“I need Josh to see me with another guy,” she was surprisingly upfront about it. “He’s dragging his feet.” 

Of course he was - Josh Chan was completely incapable of making decisions for himself. Unless someone forced him to make a choice, and Bunch seemed almost sad about being forced to wait still. 

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes. “You can pretend you have friends.” 

“I have friends,” Bunch protested. “I definitely have friends.” 

The guidance counselor did not count. He almost wanted to say that, but then he looked at her face and actually second-guessed himself. She looked defensive, and more than a little sad. 

She was very aware of just how pathetic she seemed - of how lonely she truly was. 

He should have disabused her of those illusions of friendship, should have just broken it to her in his typical forthright style. 

But he didn’t. 

“You have all the friends,” he only sounded the slightest bit sarcastic as he slammed his locker shut. 

Sure, he started walking before she was ready to leave, but his strides were a lot smaller than usual, just to give her a little time to catch up. 

This spelled trouble. 

* * *

Josh Chan did not want to dance with her. 

Finally he was talking to her again, but it was only to tell her that it would be a bad idea for the two of them to start dating so soon after he and Valencia had broken up. It would piss her off too much, and seeing as she was doing theater with Rebecca, Josh just did not want to risk her getting bullied by Valencia and her minions. 

Well, not any more than she already was. 

It was so sweet of him to worry about her like that. He totally cared about her, and he still wanted to kiss her. He did still kiss her - behind closed doors, but still. 

Rebecca Nora Bunch was the clear winner here. 

She  _ was _ . 

She just had to keep reminding herself of that while she was faced with a very emotionally unstable Valencia Perez in rehearsal on Saturday. 

First of all, it was super disconcerting to see that the head cheerleader had any kind of sincere emotions. She faked it really well for the pep rallies - like, disturbingly well - but it was very obvious to all the students that there was not actually a soul in that ridiculously flexible body of hers. 

Valencia made her suffer from all kinds of body envy - she had the conventionally beautiful looks that Rebecca absolutely would have killed for. What? A little murder never hurt - okay so it did. 

Being the fat chick even when she wasn’t technically overweight - it was not very fun. And girls like Valencia, with the snide comments and the whispers and stares, they were the ones who made her feel both small and enormous in all the worst ways. 

“Men are the worst,” Valencia proclaimed as she daintily crossed her legs. 

“The worst,” Heather Davis echoed, looking off into the distance. 

Ugh, she hated that her first instinct was to do some lame “not all men” kind of thing. Because right now, generalizing all men seemed like the most realistic way to go through life - men really were the worst. They all left and there was no way she could depend on any of them. She could only depend on Paula. 

“ _ Don’t _ get me started on men,” she felt obligated to join in. 

Because really, they were right and if they were old enough they would have had a ton of alcohol and continued in this vein for the rest of the weekend. She just really didn’t want to get started on her particular issues with the male gender and a certain specific bro type of dude. That would stir up the hornet’s nest. 

“Don’t get  _ me _ started on men,” Valencia actually seemed to be indifferent to her now - progress. 

“Totally,” Heather nodded sagely. 

Seriously, was that girl high all the time or just supremely uninterested in life in general? It seemed impossible to figure out. Or maybe it was just both. She wasn’t going to judge - she was way too invested in life. Maybe it was just a lot less painful to not care. 

“Are my stepsisters actually getting along?” Mr. Whitefeather was thrilled, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

Maybe if they played up on their newfound sisterhood he wouldn’t make them do any more trust falls or any of those exercises that involved being blinded. 

Sure, she could work with these people, and had been working with some of them for several years now. But that did not mean she trusted them. Too many people thought it was just hilarious to drop her a little bit too far, or to lead her into a wall. 

Yes, forever damaging someone’s trust in not only them, but everyone else, it was just… gut-bustingly hilarious. 

“Those exercises really worked, Mr. Whitefeather,” she took the lead. 

“Absolutely,” Heather drew a random symbol in the margins of her script. 

She’d been off book sooner than most others - seemed like the stoner girl was actually a lot smarter than people gave her credit for. 

Besides, Heather was totally going to pull off the redemption arc - she just had that vibe that made people wanna root for her. Maybe someone could work out a way to bottle that, because nobody ever wanted to root for Rebecca. 

That hideous thought made her look away from the girls. 

Of course she winded up locking eyes with the one person who’d never rooted for her - heck, he’d actively rooted for her to fail: Nathaniel freaking Plimpton. He was forced to work with Grant (that was totally his name), and clearly he was not having a lot of fun. Just the look on his haughty, aristocratic face was enough to put a smile back on hers. 

He totally deserved everything he was getting. So there. 

“Surprisingly, I agree,” Valencia wasn’t even lying much. 

“Girls, you are true professionals,” Mr. Whitefeather almost skipped back to the boys’ side of the stage, where Geoff almost slapped Nathaniel in the face with a prop. 

Ah yes, this was why this guy was just the understudy and not supposed to actually be on stage with any of them. There had better not be any broken limbs or diseases in this cast - having to go out on stage with that guy was a nightmare come true. 

She actually preferred Nathaniel, which almost came as a shock. He’d been surprisingly not terrible lately. She just hoped he wouldn’t go soft. 

“So, Stepsister’s Lament?” Heather was the one to get them back to work. “We could make that a lot funnier.”

Yes, a good work ethic. She could definitely work with that. They were absolutely going to be a highlight of the show if she had anything to say about that - and she usually had a lot to say about everything. 

“Dude,” Nathaniel suddenly exclaimed. 

She had to look, how could she not? 

Somehow idiot Graham had spilled a hot beverage onto Nathaniel’s shirt. How did that idiot even get a hold of coffee? She would murder someone for a cup right about now. 

The good part of the spillage? Nathaniel, in his fear of getting burnt on his tight abs, had yanked off his shirt, leaving him shirtless and glowing under the stage lights. How did he get that tan all over? It seemed like it was all over, anyway, and she absolutely would not mind finding out if she was right about that. Hot damn. 

“Would you mind not staring at your boyfriend all the time?” Valencia broke through the fog. 

Josh? Was Josh here? 

Okay, so Josh wasn’t actually her boyfriend, but he probably would be soon. Not that Valencia should be aware of that at this point in time. Weird. 

“Plimpton,” Valencia clearly didn’t see the truth. “I know he’s half naked over there and being all buff, but we actually have things to do here.”

Yes, focus. It was important to focus. On something other than those positively lickable - oh God she needed to slap herself in the face because distracting herself from all the yummy was not going to work without a good hard slap. 

Just because Nathaniel was hot, didn’t mean he wasn’t Satan. Or Satan’s lapdog, really, because his father seemed a lot worse and - 

_ Focus, Bunch!  _

* * *

He’d be lying his tight ass off if he said he’d never been to the guidance counselor’s office before. He probably qualified for some kind of frequent visitor program by now (what would the benefits even be like for that?). Every time his mother had another episode that was completely ignored by his father, he was forced there to talk about his feelings.

He had none. No emotions for Nathaniel Plimpton. 

Mrs. Proctor didn’t want him there any more than he wanted to be there, so she didn’t mind if he just did his homework or played around on his phone just so they could both claim they had those meetings without lying too much. The principal just did not let him get away with not attending a meeting, not anymore. After half a dozen episodes just during his high school years, there was no excuse they had not heard already.

This was the first time that Mrs. Proctor had actually scheduled a meeting with him without being prompted – meaning, forced – to do so by the powers that be. He was one hundred percent sure she didn’t just stop hating him – Mrs. Proctor was absolutely the type to hold a grudge to the grave. He almost respected her for that.

Almost – because being, shudder, “besties” with a student and using her teacher powers to track every move Josh Chan made? Kind of really out of bounds. There had to be rules against using confidential information to get a student laid.

Well, that was his ammo, and he was probably going to need it.

“What are your intentions towards my Cookie?” Mrs. Proctor was looking down at him.

She’d made him sit down and then stood up so that she appeared even the slightest bit intimidating by looming over him. Her height did not exactly scare him.

And neither did the fact that her snacks seemed to be her first priority. He would never eat a cookie, so why was he a suspect in this weird snack-related mystery?

Did she even have any idea about what kind of garbage people put in baked goods? They were ridiculously fattening and unlike some people at this school, he cared about maintaining a perfect physique. 

People had noticed - even Mrs. Proctor. Even Bu- bunches of people who weren’t ogling his abs in rehearsal last weekend. Not that he had been looking at her, of course. 

“Cookie?” he dumbly repeated.

“Rebecca Bunch,” Mrs. Proctor huffed.

Right, like it wasn’t completely unprofessional for their guidance counselor to have a motherly nickname for a student. Or any kind of nickname, really. And letting him hear her using that nickname was a whole new level of bad.

Like, blackmail potential bad, which was always a good thing for him.

“My intentions towards Bunch?” he started by repeating the question just to drive Mrs.Proctor completely up the wall.

He sounded like the mere idea of him having any sort of intentions towards Bunch was ludicrous. He did, right?

Wait, did he have intentions towards Bunch?

Nah, just the idea of that... Ludicrous. Ridiculous. Insert clever SAT synonym here. 

"You've been spending far too much time with her," Mrs. Proctor tried to kill him with her imaginary laser vision. "She hasn't been spending nearly enough time on the Chan Plan."

They'd named their ridiculous nefarious plan? And they made it rhyme? Honestly, this was everything that was wrong with the world in one simple sentence. Okay, maybe not everything, but it was pretty damn close. 

Besides, he had spent no more time with Rebecca than was enforced by Mr. Whitefeather’s increasingly heavy rehearsal schedule. Like he would want to spend any more time with her than that - like he’d want to see her outside of school and maybe…

No. Bad thoughts. 

This was truly starting to become a problem - it was not just the boner aneurysm incident anymore. Now it had grown into staring in the hallways, staring across the stage, and then there were the dreams. 

Ugh, he was going to need a visit to Panda Canyon after this. 

“Take it up with Mr. Whitefeather,” he played it cool, already having been silent for far too long. “He had us in rehearsals all day Saturday.” 

It had been a long day, but he hadn’t said no when Mr. Whitefeather had dinner delivered afterwards. Sure, he drew the line at actually eating pizza, but their town also had some healthy options that would not make him feel sick after. 

He was over the whole vomiting thing - he’d been there and done that. Monitoring his intake was the better, healthier option. 

“I have taken it up with him,” Mrs. Proctor maybe sounded just a little creepy. “And I’ll be watching very closely. That man is way too distracted by Coach Wilson’s shorts.”

True. That was very true. So true that the completely involuntary laugh that escaped him was actually audible to Mrs. Proctor. And she was either going to murder him right this second, right here in the office with her student aid watching, or she would laugh along. Now, he didn’t want to be friends with her, but he was still kind of hoping for the latter. 

He was too hot to die like this. Sure, dying young would ensure that he would stay hot for eternity, but he’d rather stay alive a little while longer, thanks. 

“Don’t laugh at your teachers, Mister Plimpton,” Mrs. Proctor’s words lacked bite, seeing as she was smiling herself. “How that man managed to get himself installed as head of an entire Department is beyond me.”

Wow, okay, unprofessional again. But he’d go along with it for now, seeing as it was going to save his ass - for now. As soon as the topic went back to her dear, dear Cookie, he was absolutely going to die. He was sure of it. 

Also, he was not going to be the kind of dweeb who actually defended Mr. Whitefeather to Mrs. Proctor. That would definitely make him appear like one of them - sure, he almost respected the man now, both for the blackmail and for running a tight ship when the crew consisted of 90% idiots. But still, he was not that kind hearted. Gross. 

It was clear that Mrs. Proctor had been hoping he’d get all defensive about his new favorite teacher - as if - and that it annoyed her that he’d stayed perfectly quiet. She clearly wanted him to go soft, so that she’d have something on him. 

Think again, Mrs. Proctor. Think again. 

His smug grin was infuriating to her, and he liked it that way. God forbid she’d figure out what his true intentions towards Reb.. Bunch were. 

Fuck! He did have intentions! 

* * *

That accident in rehearsal might have been the first time she’d seen Nathaniel without a shirt on, but it definitely was not the last time she got a good look at those abs. 

Suddenly it seemed like he was everywhere, and he was always sweating or in some state of undress - and maybe it was starting to get to her just a little bit. What? He was looking positively sinful and she was only human. 

On Monday, she’d stayed late working on an extra credit assignment her mother had made her agree to. And of course he was just coming out of water polo practice when she left the library, and he was still dripping a bit, his shirt clinging to his skin like he hadn’t quite managed to dry off properly before he got dressed in a hurry. There was one drop running down his collarbone that was close to pornographic - she had to stop for a minute and hope he hadn’t noticed how closely she’d been eyeing him during a brief hallway brush. 

Tuesday was even worse. They’d been working so hard on nailing the choreography, and they were both a little sweaty. (Not too gross sweaty, but just a little… sexy sweaty). And then the asshole actually lifted up the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow. It took her a full five seconds to look anywhere but at his bared skin - just one second too few to get caught in the act. 

By Wednesday she was starting to think that he was doing all of this on purpose, just to mess with her. But then she actually got the chance to hang out with Josh for longer than five seconds and she realized that this was just a stupid bout of teenage sexual frustration. All she really wanted was for Josh Chan to finally admit that he loved her like she loved him, so that they could be together out in the open - and she could take him home with her to have her first time in a proper bed. 

It was Josh she really wanted, but she was around Nathaniel so much… It made sense for him to be a little distracting. After all, they were playing true lovers, and he was not completely hideous. 

Admitting to herself that Nathaniel Plimpton was kind of hot helped with the ridiculousness of some of their encounters during the rest of that week - also, the extensive make out session she’d had with Josh held her over quite nicely 

Still, when she was at the school gym on Friday, doing some tricep dips to strengthen her arm muscles - strong arm muscles made it so much easier to stay in freeze for a while during some of the show’s tableaus - she just happened to run into Nathaniel again. Only this time their run-in was quite literal. 

She hadn’t been paying attention when moving on to her cardio circuit, and when he’d rounded a corner at the same time, she ended up awkwardly pressed up against a sweaty Nathaniel who was only wearing a tank and really thin gym shorts. And when she said thin, she meant thin enough to feel absolutely everything. 

It was almost a feeling of deja vu, but not in a bad way. Not that she liked having every inch of his rock solid body pressed up against her - as if! 

But she still had to distract herself from her body’s annoying reaction to it later that night, especially because they had another full Saturday of rehearsals planned the next day. And there was no way she was going to let this momentary hormonal lapse affect her performance. So she watched some of her favorite musicals in preparation for the day when she would finally be a true Broadway star. 

She fell asleep halfway through the seminal classic Chicago. 

When her eyes opened again she was in a large, unfamiliar bedroom. She needed it to be Josh’s - that was the only bedroom she wanted to spend time in, after all - but the room didn’t scream Josh at all. There was no Hawaiian theme, no surfing paraphernalia just laying about somewhere. Instead the room was decorated luxuriously, nothing even an inch out of place on the old-fashioned desk and the giant bed perfectly made. What kind of soulless automaton would live in a room like this? 

“Why are you here, Bunch?” 

Well, that certainly answered that question - and rather quickly, too. Of course Nathaniel was the soulless automaton in question. Who else could it possibly be? 

“I wanted to see you,” she found herself saying, without ever consciously deciding to admit that particular hidden truth to him. “I need your help. I need your particular brand of evil.” 

Her coat was still buttoned up tight, and she could feel the silky smooth fabric of her stockings rubbing together on the inside of her thighs. Her black heels were high enough that she didn’t have to crane her neck quite so much to look him in the eye. She might not have been wearing a flapper style dress underneath her coat - or much of anything, it seemed - but the setting of this scene certainly made sense. 

This was a seduction scene - she had some epic plan and seducing Nathaniel to get him to work with her was just the first step. Yes, it was all coming back to her now. 

“What has Chan done this time?” 

It seemed that Nathaniel was not willing to just play along with her this time. 

“This has nothing to do with him,” she slowly started to unbutton her coat, revealing that there was nothing but black, lacy lingerie underneath. “This is about you and me.” 

He visibly gaped at her, the tension in his body obvious from his eyes to his adam’s apple, from the set of his shoulders to the way his abs had tensed up. She almost didn’t dare look further down than that. The operative word being ‘almost’ - there was no visible tension  _ there  _ yet, but if she had her way there soon would be. 

“Bunch,” he tried to protest. 

It didn’t help him. Not at all! She just let her coat drop to his impeccably cleaned floor and smoothed down her black teddy. 

And then she waited. She watched him watch her, his gaze starting at her eyes and then slowly making its way down her body. Her cleavage was spectacular in this outfit and she didn’t even need Spanx to feel okay in the teddy. It was obvious that Nathaniel appreciated her Velma Kelly inspired ensemble. He could not stop staring. 

“You can touch, you know,” she teased, taking one single step closer to him. 

Nathaniel took a step back and immediately fell onto the the giant bed that dominated his room, the bed that she could not stop thinking about. Still, she had to wait for him to make the next move. 

Consent was important, okay?!

Finally he reached for her, and she let herself be dragged into his lap, her teddy riding up on her stocking-clad thighs. His hands were on her waist, hesitantly moving up in the direction of her chest. 

She leaned in to kiss him, desperate to finally have his mouth on hers. 

“Bunch,” he panted. “Rebecca.” 

And then she woke up, twisted in the sheets of her own bed, breathing hard and wondering what the hell was wrong with her. 

Because this? This was wrong!

* * *

Yes, it was more than a little bit odd that he kept seeing Bunch everywhere, but he was not going to read into it. She was not doing it on purpose - she was not a good enough actress for him to not see that she was genuinely flustered every single time he showed up. 

It really was a nice boost to the ego. 

Even though she was still all heart eyes for Mr. If Only I Had A Brain, she could not deny the chemistry. Now that he’d stopped denying it most of the time, it was good to see that she was not all that far behind. 

And he had a plan to make her catch up to him, a very simple plan that would not take a lot of time to implement. 

_ Seduction _ . 

If she reacted so strongly just because she happened to see him shirtless and/or sweating a few times, she would probably react a lot stronger when he actually started doing it on purpose. Plus, he already knew they’d be together for every partner exercise in their morning session, because Mr. Whitefeather was that obvious. 

Their teacher either really wanted them to get it on, or - the more boring option - he just wanted them to come across as a perfect couple on stage. Or both, even. 

Really, he didn’t much care about why Mr. Whitefeather was doing this, it just worked for him that he did. It gave him a lot of opportunities to screw with Bunch - and maybe eventually it would give him ample (ha!) opportunities to screw her. 

A whole Saturday’s worth of opportunities. 

Ugh, he did not want to even consider what another Saturday of his absence would mean to his father. Surely the old man had noticed and he wasn’t pleased with him. It was only a matter of time before the explosion would destroy him. The clock was ticking louder and louder - it would strike soon, and in the worst way. 

It was just better for his mental health not to think about it for too long. That only lead down the anxiety road, and he could not walk another mile on that one. 

So Bunch was definitely the more pleasing and the more diverting option. It was getting easier to get to her every single day, and he wondered if this was the day that he would finally be able to make her crack. 

That would only spell good things for his Saturday night. 

Sure, Chan might have had some other plans for Bunch, but Nathaniel had a whole day of rehearsal to convince her otherwise. And judging by how flustered she already was after ten minutes in his presence, this might not even be a full day kind of project. Not that he would consider bailing on rehearsal - well, maybe for a quickie in the janitor’s closet - and not that Rebecca Nora Bunch would ever prioritize him over her precious show. Heck, not even Chan came first - theater seemed to be her number one priority 

But it seemed like she really needed a break, with someone who knew how to make that break very enjoyable for her. Of course that someone was him - Josh Chan didn’t seem like the selfless type. 

Not that he himself was anything but selfish, he was just aware it was better for him when both parties enjoyed themselves. There was nothing selfless and noble about it. 

Or was the mere idea of getting it on with a girl who was really not his usual type an almost selfless act? It might have been, were it not that his main motivation was to hit it and quit it, just so she would finally be out of his system. Maybe then he could finally move on to his normal brand of young, vulnerable women. 

He started off simple. Now that the official opening was over and Mr. Whitefeather had made all of his announcements, he knew the partner exercises were right around the corner. 

As usual, they’d start with contact improv, which meant that they had to start touching each other right away - basically, Mr. Whitefeather was doing half his work for him. He ought to help him in his quest to romance Coach Wilson in return for this. That way he wouldn’t owe his teacher another favor that would need to be cashed in. He was not going to be stuck doing these shows with these idiots for the rest of his life. 

This was all just a passing phase, and that included his lame fixation on Bunch. But for now he might as well enjoy himself. 

“Here we are again, Bunch,” he grinned at her to watch her fumble with some hair clip. “We really work well together.” 

And they actually did. It was annoying, actually.

Sure, he was brilliant, talented, and a natural leader, but this weird connection absolutely did not need to get any stronger than it already was. He really hoped none of these losers wanted to actually be friends after this. Nathaniel Plimpton the Third did not do friends. 

“What are you up to?” Bunch was immediately suspicious of him. 

“Nefarious plans,” he teased, waiting for Mr. Whitefeather to start the exercise. “You’ll be touching me quite a bit over the next hour or so. Are you sure you’re ready?” 

Well, now Bunch really looked at him like she was ready to murder him. Which just meant that his comment had hit a nerve - and they only just started the contact improv. With just a light tap to an innocent body part to make him move that part into a particular direction, they would learn to anticipate each other’s movements. 

Bunch couldn’t quite reach the top of his head, which was always a cause of hilarity for him. Still, if he wanted her to get even halfway to seduced, he couldn’t laugh at her too much - or too little. That option would just make her even more suspicious of him. 

So he followed almost gamely while she managed to get him down to her level, and he tried not to comment too much on his current view. He was supposed to keep his eyes closed as a show of trust, after all. 

The running tally of comments was mostly in his head - with the exception of the occasional comment that slipped out, murmured softly under his breath. Bunch wouldn’t hear them if she was off thinking about something else - and she was. 

“Looking good, Bunch,” he decided it was time to distract her. 

She immediately noticed the angle and not too gently tapped his left shoulder so he’d turn away from her. Yeah, too late Bunch. He’d already seen more than enough - he wouldn’t just forget it by turning around. 

“How long have you been looking down my shirt?” she just sounded tired, which was really not his intention. 

“How long has it been since we started this assignment?” he asked in lieu of giving an actual response. 

A weary sigh was all the response he got from her. Where the hell did her fire go? That was what he was counting on in this endeavor. He needed her to get fired up and challenge him - it made them both hot, no matter if she was willing to admit that or not. 

“What’s wrong, Bunch?” he let himself ask. 

He was ready for the brush-off, for the lies about how she was absolutely, completely fine and he was a complete imbecile for even daring to imply that she was anything other than completely healthy and normal and so fucking fine. 

That was just how people responded when you spotted a weakness they never meant for you to see. He didn’t see why Rebe-Bunch would respond differently. 

“I’m having a bad day,” she said, ever so calmly, even though she was vulnerable in front of a self-proclaimed asshole. “And you being an asshole does not help.” 

Every time he thought he knew exactly what to expect from Bunch, she gave him something completely different - what was up with that? How did she do it? She both treated him like someone she was close to and could share her feelings with, and like the complete asshole he knew he was - but it was almost in a fond way. 

“Wanna skip out on trust falls?” he gave her a way out of her most hated exercise. 

It was not just about the control issues, it was also about being big and too heavy and being terrified that the losers in the group wouldn’t be able to catch him - her. Would not be able to catch her. Because it wasn’t like he had weight issues or anything. 

“Hell yes,” she muttered. “If that Jim guy gets weird with me one more time about some unspoken thing he thinks we have… I might actually drop him. By accident.” 

Her air quotes on those last two words were kind of adorable, because even though she was really trying to be subtle about their sotto voce conversation, she didn’t exactly manage to be quiet. The drama just lover her, and she loved it right back. And he was absolutely going to ignore that he ever even thought the word adorable in relation to Bunch. 

“Mr. Whitefeather is talking to Coach Wilson,” he spotted them from the corner of his eye. “That is all the distraction we’ll need.” 

Bunch nodded solemnly and followed him into the hallway, where it was quiet and no one would force them to address their body issues head on. 

He really did not mean to find another thing he had in common with Bunch, but he wasn’t surprised about it any longer. For some reason their broken pieces seemed to align. 

“Let me guess,” he decided to take the lead, “Josh Chan is once again being an indecisive, secretive, hypocritical - wait, let me rephrase that in words he might actually understand. Josh Chan is being a dumb-dumb?”

The fury he received in return was almost soothing. Maybe she’d run after him with a sharp object again - maybe this time she would end up straddling him. More than one of his dreams had started that way. 

“You don’t understand our love,” she hissed at him, not realizing how ridiculous she sounded. 

Still, his laughter was not quite welcomed - not that he cared about that. He didn’t! 

“I’m sure the idea of the jock falling for the drama queen is just as enthralling in real life as it was in your favorite movie,” he rolled his eyes emphatically, “but in real life we don’t sing catchy songs about the status quo in the cafeteria.”

Sure, it had happened once in a dream, but he tried not to put too much stock in those unless they recurred as often as Rebecca did these days. When someone showed up in his brief moments of peace for four days in a row, it was time to do something about it. And he’d been telling himself that for about a week now. An eleven day streak was no joke. 

“You’ve seen it,” Bunch was just delighted. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he kept a straight face - acting. 

The rage had completely left her, and he was left kind of disappointed by it. There was no use for her woobifying him - he preferred her anger, because at least that way there was a chance she’d unleash the passion she’d been holding back. If she actually used the word adorable to refer to him his balls would shrink up into his body. 

Why did he care so much about what she thought of him?

Because he was an idiot, that was why. 

* * *

It took her more than a few minutes to realize that they were the only ones left who were still rehearsing. Everyone else appeared to have left - even Mr. Whitefeather and Coach Wilson appeared to have departed (hopefully together). 

She kinda shipped it. 

For some reason she and Nathaniel had been isolated from the rest of the group for the last hour or so of rehearsal - Mr. Whitefeather thought that their chemistry and their dance could use some work, and seeing as how the rest of the group was a major distraction even when one was not faced with seriously inconvenient feelings of lust for an asshole scene partner, they’d decided to do their practicing in the other room. 

At least, that was why she decided - she wasn’t even going to think about the possibility of the inconvenient feelings being mutual. She had Josh - she would have Josh, anyway - and there was no way she would continue to think about Nathaniel in this manner. 

“Okay, once more with feeling,” Nathaniel was breathing heavy. 

So of course it was not helping that he’d stripped off a few layers, leaving him in a thin tank top that left those Arms bare. He had good arms. Those were good arms to have. 

They were doing the dance scene again, both not even daring to attempt the scene they really had to work on: the happy ending, kiss included. That was just way too much to even consider at this point. 

She just really wanted to be Josh Chan’s official girlfriend before she even attempted to kiss Nathaniel. 

“One last time,” she warned. “I have plans tonight.”

Okay, Josh saying that he might be at a party did not really qualify as plans, but she was still going to go to this guy Hector’s place in hopes of seeing Josh. 

Wow, she almost had flashbacks to that one time with Greg at Beans’ place. But that was a long time ago and Greg was happily studying business at Emory now. 

“I’m sure Hector’s mom will be pleased to see you,” Nathaniel was too astute for her sanity. 

Also, he was completely on the nose about the seriously weird situation with Hector and his mother. Most parents didn’t exactly stay for the party - heck, most parents didn’t even know that there would be a party. But Hector’s mother was different, desperate to cling to her youth in her disturbingly close connection to her teenage son. 

Ugh, she really did not want to think about that podcast. 

“Just dance with me already,” she huffed, stepping closer to him. 

For once, Nathaniel was quiet, almost too quiet. He just bowed formally, asking her to dance as the start of their detailed choreography. 

Funny, he almost looked princely as he leaned over her hand, kissing it gently rather than faking it for the stage. Glitter exploded inside of her, mostly in her stomach, as she felt herself flush. 

She loved courtly gestures like this, the cheesy romance that everyone thought was overrated and ridiculous. To her it just said that the other person was making an effort to seduce you - and when she wasn’t completely blinded by her teenage hormones, she absolutely wanted to be seduced slowly but surely. 

“Your highness,” she muttered, careful to stay in character. 

It did not matter that she was wearing sweaty workout clothes, and that the silly placeholder crowns on their heads had cost about a dollar, because Prince Nathaniel had swept her off her feet and into the soothing steps of a waltz. 

He was an excellent leader, even with a stubborn partner such as her. She could actually trust him to lead her in these steps, trust him to keep her close to him, trust him to keep her safe on stage. Off stage, she wasn’t so sure - out of rehearsal he was still dangerous to her peace of mind. But while she was dancing with him she could pretend that she was Ella and he was her charming Prince. 

Every time they did these the steps were more fluid, and it became easier and easier to let the glitter win. He was charming, and tall (very tall), and he danced like a dream. And when he looked at her, eyes darker than she remembered them being, she simply had to press herself a little bit closer to him. 

They’d worry about fitting her supposedly big dress in between them when they had to - not yet though. Not right now. 

As they started whirling towards the ending, she wondered what it would be like when they finally reached the kiss, the happily ever after. He would have to stoop down, and she would have to reach so far up in her heels, but it would be magical. 

With a final twirl, she let herself lean back in his strong grip, now trusting him completely - at least in this. He would never let her fall, not on stage. Not just because it would make him look like a bad partner, but also because maybe, just maybe, he’d actually grown a little fond of her. 

It was kind of pathetic, while at the same time being oddly flattering. 

She looked up at him to find him once again looking down at her from hooded eyes. She had to look back, had to hold his gaze even when she felt herself flushing. It was a powerful thing, having all of his attention in this way. 

How long had she been leaning like this? Mere seconds? Forever? She didn’t know and didn’t much care. 

Slowly, finally, he pulled her up, settling her against his solid chest. He was just so much taller than her, and so warm, and that damn tank didn’t do anything to hide it. Her own clothing had also become seriously inadequate at hiding how affected she was by him. 

This was a serious problem. 

Why didn’t this happen with Josh? Why didn’t Josh give her goosebumps? Why was it Nathaniel Plimpton of all people? 

With an almost mournful sigh, she took a step back. 

“And, that’s it for today,” she cut through the spell weaved around the two of them. 

“Right,” Nathaniel sounded almost dazed there. “You have plans.”

She started gathering her stuff on auto-pilot, head still somewhere roughly ten minutes ago. Her script, her vocal book, her water bottle, pens and other knick knacks - she couldn’t remember how to properly store them in her bag, so she threw it all in and hoped it would come out okay. 

“I’ll walk with you,” Nathaniel waited for her to finish packing. 

It would be rude not to let him. That was why she nodded, that was why she let him. It had nothing to do with her actually wanting to spend a few extra minutes with him. She’d been spending more than enough time with him for Paula to start taking notice - her best friend had not been happy with the perceived disinterest in the Chan Plan. 

“Are you actually being nice now?” she was very aware of how flirtatious that particular statement came out. 

“Dream on, Bunch,” he grinned as he held the door for her. “I would never.” 

They walked the empty hallways together - it was starting to get dark, and the wind was gusting against the doors. She was not looking forward to going out in that. 

Nathaniel reached for the door, and they both shared a look. One last moment together before the wind would blow them both away into their separate directions - as it should, she knew that. She just forgot for a little while. 

The door wouldn’t open. 

“It’s locked,” Nathaniel said. 

“Well, unlock it,” she waited for him to do just that. 

It was a stupid joke, but she couldn’t blame him for making it. A dark school, just the two of them - it was a recipe for disaster. 

“Unlike what you might believe,” Nathaniel went off on a tangent, “Alohomora doesn’t actually work in real life.”

Did he just say what she thought he said? Did he actually just say that? 

That was almost adorable and potentially life-changing. 

“You are such a Slytherin,” she rolled her eyes at him. 

“Cunning, ambitious, resourceful,” he listed, grinning the whole time. “I don’t consider those bad traits. You’re just a jealous wannabe Gryffindor.”

Well that was just blatantly wrong. She saw no benefits to being a Gryffindor - she was smart and valued intelligence in other people. Clearly, Nathaniel did not get her at all. 

“I am a proud Ravenclaw,” she protested. “And you’re a not so secret nerd. What, you watched a movie?”

He probably watched one of the movies to impress a girl or something, on a date that led to that random girl eventually ending up in the backseat of Nathaniel’s fancy car. She’d heard the rumors - she knew all his moves even though he’d only tried a couple on her. 

“I’ve read all the books,” he refuted her claim. “I got mono freshman year. I had to do something to kill the time, and the housekeeper had bought all the books for her nerdy son.” 

She was kind of charmed by it, picturing that awkward sick freshman devouring the books, at home in his freaking mansion. He’d clearly identified with the wrong characters - she was thinking Draco Malfoy - but at least he’d actually read the books. 

“You totally have a Slytherin tie at home, don’t you?” she flirted, stepping a little closer to him. 

“I might,” he tried to act so casual. “You want to see it, don’t you?”

So it was more than just the tie. Noted, Nathaniel, noted. One way or another she was going to see that tie - and everything else he had hidden at home. 

Surely she could think of some kind of scheme that would involve getting access to his room - probably without taking her clothes off. 

That could just be a bonus. 

Oh wow, her brain was totally betraying her right now and she didn’t even mind it that much. 

She was the first to lean in, placing her hand on his shoulder to pull him down to her level. He went along with it rather easily, a hand on her waist as if they were about to start a whole other dance, and they both already knew the steps to that one. 

This time, he would let her lead, let her pull him even closer so that their foreheads were touching. 

“Can’t be with Cedric if you’re already with Ron,” he just had to go there. 

“Stop talking dirty,” she whispered. 

Was she really going to do this? Was she really going to kiss Nathaniel Plimpton the Third, right here in a dark school hallway? 

Yes, yes, she was, she decided as she finally bridged the last inches. 

A fraction of an inch from her goal, she was started by a loud noise. 

Of course that was when that damn Gavin kid showed up, banging on the door with the janitor’s keys in his stupid hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think - I'll be getting the first half of my wisdom teeth removed this weekend, so I'm gonna need some good things ;)


	3. Loser like all of these idiots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel hates Geoffrey and finally learns to use first names.

Someday he was actually going to murder that Geoffrey guy. 

And maybe that someday would actually be this very day. 

It wasn’t just that the guy kept stalking him in rehearsal - he claimed to have mastered all of his ensemble parts so he’d come to Nathaniel so he could be a proper understudy. Like that guy could ever be a decent replacement for him. The guy wouldn’t be a proper replacement for anyone, but especially not for him. 

Maybe he was just a little more harsh on him because of the incident with Bunch at that Saturday rehearsal. If he hadn’t shown up, he was sure he would have gotten to at least second base with Bunch, possibly more. 

But no, the idiot just had to show up and completely kill the mood. 

He’d been so damn close! Bunch had even been the one to make the first move, which meant that he was totally in her system now - but it was all dependant upon the right atmosphere and the right moment. 

It had been right there: an abandoned hallway in a locked building, no way for anyone to disturb them. And not in a creepy way - just in the ‘certain activities should really remain private’ way. No spectators required. 

But of course freaking Giles just had to break that unspoken rule. He just had to ruin this like he ruined everything. 

Now how was he going to get Rebecca, to get Bunch to go near him again? She’d retreated right back to the ridiculously named Chan Plan. Apparently that was safer than actually doing anything with someone who wasn’t named Josh Chan. 

Fucking Muggle. 

“Mr. Plimpton?” 

“Yes, Mr. Whitefeather?”

He was screwed. Clearly someone had said something, or someone had found out about his moment with Bunch - and now his teacher was going to use it against him. What else did Mr. Whitefeather need to blackmail him into doing? 

“Don’t worry,” his teacher immediately tried to reassure him in that doofus-like way. “I just wanted to have a quick chat about your future.”

What the - his future? What was that supposed to mean? This was not a good sign. 

“You probably already have everything figured out for next year,” Mr. Whitefeather just yammered on and on, “but I was hoping you would consider something else.”

Like what exactly? What was he going to be forced into now? 

“I know you didn’t join the program voluntarily,” Mr. Whitefeather finally admitted to at least part of his shady dealings. “But you are a very talented young man.” 

Okay, something bad was coming. No one ever complimented him without there being some kind of ulterior motive - or without it being used to soften some kind of blow. Had something happened to his mother again? 

“Thank you?” Even in an awkward situation he prided himself on feigning politeness. 

“I just think it would be a waste of talent,” Mr. Whitefeather continued, “to let our production of Cinderella be your only theater experience. So I’ve done a little research.” 

A little. There was no way that the gigantic binder his teacher just foisted upon him constituted a little anything. Even his own, admittedly fantastic, muscles were surprised by the weight of it. 

There was just so much in here that he didn’t even open it to see what was inside. 

“A little?” he remarked skeptically. 

“Just some applications and information about theater programs,” Mr. Whitefeather tried to brush it off. “Some of these can be combined with a business degree - seeing as that was what you intended to do before the stage called to you.”

What the hell? 

Wow, the man certainly had a flair for the dramatic. Not that he didn’t already know about that, but this just proved it once again. The stage called to him? Seriously? What kind of Bunch-esque nonsense was that? 

She would totally say something like that, looking all serious with her eyes laser-focused on her target. Maybe she wouldn’t say it about him, but she would absolutely say it about herself. 

And this was not about her, so why was he going there? Again? 

“Mr. Whitefeather,” he tried to interrupt the incoming dramatic monologue before it even started. 

“Nathaniel you have grown so much in these past few weeks,” Mr. Whitefeather had started to wax poetic and he was not going to stop. “When you started with us, you were angry, and distant, and dismissive of all of us. But you have grown into it, and your bond with Ms. Bunch is truly something special. The chemistry!”

This was not going into a direction that he was comfortable with. He had not grown or changed significantly over the course of these past few weeks. He was not suddenly friends with any of these people. There was absolutely nothing special going on between him and Bunch.It was just teenage hormones and general idiocy (yes, that last part was referring to that Graham moron). 

No, he was not going to let that go so easily. 

“I’m sure this will be our best show yet,” there was just no stopping Mr. Whitefeather when he was on a roll. “And we do owe a lot of that to you, Mr. Plimpton.” 

Was this a thank you? Was this actually Mr. Whitefeather wanting to thank him for the effort by doing all this ridiculous research that he was never going to use? There was no way that his father would ever allow him to study theatre, not even on the side. There were so many more important things for him to do. 

Trying to take over the world, for example (thanks Pinky). His father may not have seen the humor in it, but Nathaniel almost did. For a few seconds, before the importance of business and the company were impressed upon him yet again. 

“Thank you?” It came out as a question. 

“I just feel like not pursuing this further would be a waste of your talents,” Mr. Whitefeather smiled at him. “I would be happy to act as a reference for any of these applications. I just hate seeing talent such as yours go to waste.”

Had he offered the same thing to Bunch? 

Not very likely - she would have started doing this very research about three to four years ago. She probably already asked - read: demanded - that Mr. Whitefeather vouch for her in every possible way. And knowing Mr. Whitefeather even a little bit, he probably wrote her an extensive letter describing her every virtue in great detail. And not even in a creepy way. 

Nathaniel’s description of Bunch’s virtues - that was not for anyone under eighteen. Or for anyone to hear really - not even for Bunch herself. It might actually make her think that he gave a damn about her. 

Which he really didn’t, of course. 

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Mr. Whitefeather just kept on talking and talking. “I just feel like you should consider all of your options.” 

Except this was not a real option, not for him. Plimptons did not study theater. They never did anything even remotely frivolous. They went to school for business and got excellent grades, and they spent the rest of their time working out and otherwise being the perfect son. 

Otherwise he might make his mother upset again. 

“These options aren’t,” he tried to explain it to his teacher. 

“Just consider it,” Mr. Whitefeather interrupted him before he could finish a sentence. “Just take this binder and look through it. When you feel like it. No pressure.” 

The man was infuriating. Mr. Whitefeather just refused to let him off the hook, even though he was fully aware that Nathaniel was not going to be able to pursue this. This one show was risky enough - his father had questioned his absences, even though he hadn’t even been at home himself. 

“I’ll take the binder,” he agreed, knowing he’d get rid of it the second his teacher had his back turned. 

Wait, did he owe his teacher something now? After the whole totally setting him up to nail Bunch thing, and now the binder, he really kind of did owe the man something. He had to say something. 

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” he just blurted it out without another thought. “Especially the whole helping get me laid thing. So, I kind of owe you, and I figured… You’re clearly really into Coach Wilson, and I have some solid advice to make that happen.”

It was so obvious, anyone could see what was happening. Well, except maybe that Grant guy, but no one else seemed to manage his particular level of cluelessness. Even creepy Karen seemed to have caught on to the ogling and the flirting and the swooning. 

And if Karen had caught on, everyone knew. 

And if everyone knew, it was about damn time to actually do something about it that was more than just making googly eyes at various exposed body parts. Coach Wilson was totally into it, but the man wasn’t making a move. 

Someone had to do something - and he knew that Bunch “shipped” it. It would totally also score him bonus points with her if he made it happen. 

“Mr. Plimpton, this is highly inappropriate,” Mr. Whitefeather stammered. . 

“That’s kind of the school motto,” he correctly surmised. 

The guidance counselor was basically writing up seduction plans for a student she treated like a daughter. That one guy that made the students call him Robert had been fired for doing it with a student. Creepy Karen had some weird ass activities going on in the Bio lab with some of the school’s pet snakes. 

Honestly, a little teacher on teacher flirtation was nothing compared to what his poor eyes had seen in that lab. 

“You may have a point,” the older man acknowledged. 

There was a beat of silence. All he had to do now was wait - the bait was set and Mr. Whitefeather was totally ready to bite. 

He held on to his stupid binder for a little while longer, mentally figuring out if the humongous thing would fit in his locker. Maybe he didn’t have to throw it out right away. 

“So, about this advice?”

So predictable. 

* * *

It was all over. 

It had happened so quickly, so easily. It didn’t take him any effort at all to throw her in the garbage, where she belonged. 

Josh Chan had dumped her. 

He’d just abandoned her, just like all the other men. Just like her father, like Robert, like all of them. He was just like them. 

Somehow he’d seen inside her garbage head, somehow he’d seen that she really wasn’t worth it, and instead of making her happy he’d just moved on to some pretty blonde transfer student who only seemed to care if her eyebrows were on fleek. 

That Anna girl was probably a drug dealer too. The girl was always trading something or other with her fellow fashionistas - Valencia would probably know all about it. 

Poor Valencia was probably heartbroken - which for her only showed in the level of rage she exuded. Heather was the only one who hadn’t run away screaming, because Heather was smart enough to see what was really going on, and badass enough to give as good as she got. 

Heather was kind of really awesome, okay. 

Unlike Josh, who was really The Worst. Like, he officially threw Nathaniel Plimpton off the throne of hell - or his dad anyway. Still, Josh was the WORST. 

He led her on. He made her believe that they were going to be together, and then when she found him at Hector’s party he didn’t want to be seen with her. 

Not like he had at - he never wanted to be seen with her. He was embarrassed by her, embarrassed to be seen with her, but not too embarrassed to make out with her when no one else was around. 

And she’d just let it happen. 

It was just so embarrassing - she was smarter than that, right? Or at least, she’d really thought she was. Maybe that was the worst part, because her smarts were a big part of the very little she had going for her. 

The feelings were swallowing her up and none of them were good. She could just feel herself slipping back into that depression state of mind, and there was absolutely nothing that she could do to stop it. 

What was the point when no one wanted her? 

Well, except Nathaniel, but he didn’t count. It didn’t matter that he obviously wanted to have sex with her, not when Josh wasn’t interested in her. 

Josh Chan was supposed to be her perfect match, her soulmate. 

Nathaniel was just... a roadblock. Someone who got in the way of her happily ever after with Joshua Felix Chan. He was never supposed to be the Prince, not off stage. 

So maybe he was really charming on stage, and he was hitting more than a few of the right buttons off stage. Still, it didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything, because she wasn’t meant to be with Nathaniel Plimpton the Third. 

(Her mother would die of happiness if she even mentioned his name, which was another point against him. Not that she hadn’t already gathered quite a lot of reasons not to even think about him. Chief of them being Josh. )

It did not matter that Nathaniel was tall and attractive with those blue eyes that just randomly turned soft with warmth when seconds before they’d been lit up by a spark of intelligence. She never asked him to be kind to her - she didn’t even want him to be kind. She didn’t want his pity, or his perceived little crush. 

And there he was, staring at her again. 

He’d been doing that a lot lately, and even more so after the stupid Josh thing. Somehow he just knew that she’d been dumped. 

Ugh, he was the worst and she didn’t even know why she was thinking of him again. 

“Stop pitying me,” she hissed at him as she walked by. 

“Pity is for losers,” he corrected. 

Which was basically her title at this point. So why wasn’t he rubbing it in? 

“So?” she stopped in her tracks. 

“I’d pity Chan,” he smirked. “Not you.”

What? 

If anyone was the loser in this scenario, it was definitely her. Josh was the captain of the team, the leader of the pack. She was just a theater nerd whose own people didn’t even respect her. She didn’t even have friends - she’d just been lying to herself again. Paula was her only friend, but that was just kind of weird. 

She was very aware of how weird that was, but it didn’t change anything. It’s not like she would suddenly become more likeable overnight. 

Not that she cared about that - she didn’t. She wasn’t going to remember any of these people anyway, when she made it big. 

So if they didn’t care about her, and she didn’t care about them? 

“You okay there Bunch?” Nathaniel was still around for some lame reason. “You’re about to start catching flies.” 

If she didn’t care about anyone - that included stupid Nathaniel - it would be easier. She could be bad, really bad. 

“Fuck off.” She flipped him off for good measure. 

It was time for her to get some good old-fashioned revenge. 

* * *

They could not put it off any longer. They had to do it. 

Mr. Whitefeather was making them practice that one scene: the final scene. The scene that involved the true love’s kiss neither of them really believed in. Still, they had to sell it to the audience. 

But with Bunch being in her current state, he doubted they could sell water in a desert together. 

She was completely occupied by her stupid revenge plan. He didn’t even know what she was planning exactly - he was very sure that he probably really did not want to know a single thing about it - but it was obvious that it had completely consumed her. 

Bunch was acting like a jilted bride, like she’d been left at the altar by this complete idiot. It was a high school fling at best - it wasn’t like she’d even remember Josh Chan at their ten year reunion. She’d probably be ruling the world by then, or just the Broadway stage. Or quite possibly, both. 

She was ambitious like that - she had more than a little Slytherin in her. And if she wanted to, she could have a lot of Slytherin in her - yes, he meant sex. A lot of it. 

But perhaps they’d start with a kiss - a staged one at that, right in front of meddling Mr. Whitefeather. Sure, he had game, but not the kind of game he wanted to show to his teacher (no matter how much Mr. Whitefeather would probably learn from it). This needed to happen just between him and Bunch, if it was ever going to be something real. 

Ew, why would he want this to be ‘something real’? He just needed to get her out of his system. One go and he would be right back to normal. 

Well, maybe one night. There were a couple positions he was sure she wouldn’t mind trying. But just one night, because Nathaniel Plimpton the Third did not do anything more than one night. He did not do relationships. Ugh, the thought alone made him more than a little sick to his stomach. 

That was kind of a good thing at this point, because thinking about having sex with Bunch had made his loose pants much too tight all of a sudden. Which again: just fine when it was just him and Bunch, but not okay with their teacher right there. 

“Can we get this over with already?” Bunch was less than excited. 

“Miss Bunch,” Mr. Whitefeather gently chided. “We are looking to create a certain atmosphere here. This kiss is supposed to be the culmination of your incredible chemistry throughout the show. It needs to be romantic, loving, a true embodiment of happily ever after.”

Wow, no pressure there. Clearly Mr. Whitefeather still had some serious heart eyes going on - head in the clouds, thinking of Coach Wilson at inopportune moments, the whole shebang. He’d now reached the spreading the feeling stage, trying to get others to join him in a love bubble of their own. Sickening. 

At least Bunch seemed to agree with that sentiment, her pinched face in sharp contrast to the romantic scene they were supposed to be playing out. 

If it continued like this, there would be actual vomiting before they even got close to working on the actual scene. And he was not sure if it would be him or Bunch, but he was fully aware that Mr. Whitefeather would be the cause. 

Something had to be done, and he knew he was the man for the job. 

“Mr. Whitefeather,” he just had to play this right. “I’m sure you understand that it is kind of uncomfortable to practice a kissing scene with one of our favorite teachers examining everything. So how about you give us some time to practice it ourselves?”

Sucking up worked - he’d seen Bunch do it enough to know that much. He probably wasn’t as good at it as she was - less experience - but he was willing to give it a try if it meant that Mr. Whitefeather would go off somewhere, anywhere. It was bad enough that he’d have to do it in front of a full auditorium at some point, but for the first time? Yeah, it was not going to happen with all the hovering that was currently going on. 

“Oh, I remember my first kissing scene,” Mr. Whitefeather was immediately off on another random tangent. 

“I agree with Nathaniel,” Bunch ended their teacher’s story before it began. 

She was absolutely being nice to him because it would get them what they wanted, and it was absolutely turning him on. 

That had nothing to do with how much he liked it when she used his first name - that should not be a thing. That dramatic way she spoke was not going to be a kink for him. He did not want to have to kinkshame himself. 

“Rebecca is right,” he got right on the wagon. 

Of course he had to use her first name to get the right effect. Mr. Whitefeather was never going to buy it if he kept calling her Bunch. That was the one and only reason he was using her first name. 

“Finally my two leads are on the same page,” Mr. Whitefeather was delighted at this development - as delighted as he was all the damn time. 

He was not going to ask his teacher if the man could just leave already, but he was definitely sorely tempted. But he was not raised to be rude to his teachers, even if he was smarter and better adjusted than they were. Plimptons respected authority - and his father’s authority above all else. 

“Your exercises really helped us,” Bunch was laying it on a bit thick now. 

If she said anything about getting in touch with anyone’s feelings, especially his, he was going to throw up the salad he had at lunch. 

Sure, he did appreciate the unnecessary help Mr. Whitefeather had given him in the seducing Bunch plan, but it wasn’t like there were any feelings involved here. It was all teenage hormones and getting some things out of their systems. 

“Your chemistry is just so inspirational,” Mr. Whitefeather looked about ready to swoon. “It’s a shame you’re both seniors, because I’d love to keep working with you two, together.”

One show, no encores, no repeat engagements. There was no way he would be blackmailed into doing anything else. 

And doing this voluntarily? No, he was not that far gone yet. 

“You flatter us,” Bunch practically pushed their teacher out the door. 

He just made sure to smile at the man until the second after the door closed in his face. Then, he prepared for battle. 

Bunch was certainly not going to make this easy for him. He was just about ready to curse Josh Chan’s name for ruining this for him. She’d pretty much been a sure bet before - she made the first move to kiss him last time - until Josh “dumb-dumb” Chan showed her that all men were superficial assholes. And while Bunch obviously knew that in theory (and maybe some practice) the reminder had stung. 

And that was why she was currently glaring daggers at him instead of letting herself be seduced by their circumstances. 

“I’m not going to kiss you,” Bunch was dismissive. 

Damn you Josh Chan! Damn you Graham for interrupting what had been such a promising moment! 

“I never thought you wouldn’t take your role seriously,” they both knew he was baiting her with that one. “It’s about true love, Bunch.”

For a girl who had no trouble manipulating people to get what she wanted, she definitely had a mushy side he could easily take advantage of. She clearly wanted to believe in soulmates and true love, and if that did not get him what he wanted, he was still baiting her. 

She never could let him win. 

“You’re the worst,” she declared. 

“I’m okay with that,” he shrugged. 

That stopped her in her tracks. Not in the way he’d wanted, with her dropping the subject and moving on to the good parts of this meeting, but in that analytical way that told him she might be seeing something he didn’t necessarily intend for her to see. 

What kind of quip could he use to distract her? Making her angry usually worked, but she’d been filled with so much anger that it had become a little risky. Too much anger and she’d walk right out and he’d never get another chance to get with her. Because that was all he wanted from her. 

“As long as it gets you what you want,” Bunch was still looking at him like that. 

“Would you prefer I fake some feelings?” he tried to distract her. 

He wasn’t moral enough to play the honesty card all the time. It worked on Bunch, but many a girl had needed a few sweet nothings whispered in her ear to allow him a few liberties. Either way, the result was the same: he got what he wanted and he moved on. 

“You aren’t that good an actor,” she dismissed him. 

“That sounds like a challenge,” he was almost amused. 

Maybe if he pretended not to notice that she’d actually stepped closer to him to properly dismiss him, maybe she wouldn’t notice either. Maybe she would keep doing it. 

“No thanks,” Bunch scoffed. “Let’s just get through this stupid scene.”

She was still moving closer, no matter what her actual words were saying. So maybe he wasn’t alone in feeling this ridiculous attraction - he knew he wasn’t - and they could just finally get it over with. 

He needed the show to be over, and her to be out of his head, so that he could go back to his normal life. The life that he was supposed to lead, the one that did not involve theater and this girl who’d somehow made him pay attention to her. 

“If you insist,” he drew her in closer with his words. 

“Don’t act like you don’t want to kiss me, Nathaniel,” she reached for him with one hand. 

It was going to burn right through his chest. It shouldn’t be possible, but that single touch of her hand had completely drawn him in. How did she do that? 

“You’ve been wanting it too,” he whispered, slowly moving down to her level. 

She could not deny that - he did not want her to deny it. She needed to admit that she did want him, because that meant he won. 

But was he even keeping score still? 

“I’m acting,” she reminded him, taunted him. 

Her hand had made its way to the back of his neck, pulling him further and further down as she reached up to meet him. 

“And I’m not?” he quirked an eyebrow. 

His hand was on the small of her back, and this was absolutely not going to be allowed for their stage kiss. That was all chaste and romantic and pure - and why was he even still thinking about that? 

This kiss, this had nothing to do with Ella and Prince Topher. 

“Please,” she whispered. 

If that was still in response to something, he’d long since forgotten it. It was a plea for him to finally bridge those final inches, a plea to not let that Grant guy interrupt them this time. 

How could he not grant her wish? 

Their lips met sharply, a contrast to how slow they’d been moving before. This was all pent-up frustrations, hormones, attraction against their wishes. She pulled at him, contorting him into the perfect position to just keep kissing her. And so he had to push back, clinging at his perfect control by the edges of his fingernails. 

They continued to fight even in this kiss, a yank on his hair and a tug at her hips to get her even closer. It was desperate, frantic, passionate… And it was everything he wanted, or was it? 

“Bunch,” he pulled away to catch his breath. 

“Shut up,” she pushed him against the closed door. 

He’d dreamt of this, but not this. 

“Slow down,” he tried to reach for her face, gently. 

“Shut up,” she repeated, pushing his hand away. 

There was no way for him to move comfortably, and yet she tried to pull at him. Another kiss, one that seemed even harsher than the first, all teeth and tongue. 

God, it was hot, it really was. Bunch, Rebecca… She couldn’t stop trying to get even closer to him, pressing her body tightly against his. 

But he felt a doorknob pushing against his back, and his neck was starting to hurt from being pushed and pulled into such an awkward position. 

“Rebecca,” he spoke without thinking. 

The change was absolute. She stilled immediately, eyes wide and hands trembling as she tried to fix her shirt. 

He hadn’t even been staring at her cleavage - what the hell was wrong with him? 

“I need to go,” she disentangled herself from him, her body shaky and her face closed off. 

And he was left alone in the room, pants too tight and heartbeat racing. 

The clock had struck midnight and Ella had run from the prince. But there was no glass slipper, no clue as to what had gone wrong. 

* * *

She did not mean to be distracted, she just was. 

And it was a serious problem. 

“Rebecca,” he’d said. 

Nathaniel Plimpton had used her first name, and it was soft and warm and completely unexpected. And most of all, it was bad and wrong. 

If he’d just kept that stupid, surprisingly soft mouth of his shut, she’d have been on top of him in an empty classroom at this point. 

But no, he just had to use her name and ruin everything. 

How dare he make it sound like he gave a damn about her? This was Nathaniel Plimpton the Third - he didn’t do anything involving the full spectrum of human emotions. He was supposed to bang her and leave her, just so Josh Chan would never be able to have her first time. 

Because he didn’t deserve it. 

Not that it was even about deserving it, it was about her choices. And she’d chosen Nathaniel for this one. Just this one time, just to get those damn hormones out of the way so they could both move on with their lives. She wanted to be bad, to let the animalistic urges rule her just once, just like they ruled everyone else in school. 

So why wouldn’t he just let her? 

He’d been turned on when he said it, but she knew all about how true feelings came out when the normal filters were gone, and what he’d said was her name. She couldn’t get over it, couldn’t get it out of her head. 

“Cookie?” 

It was probably just another twisted, devious manipulation. He was the Evil Plimpton after all - perhaps this was like She’s All That after all and he needed to make her believe that he gave a damn about her so she’d fall for him. 

She could probably expect a prom invitation any day now. 

Not that she’d say yes to that - she’d seen the movies and she didn’t exactly want to end up crying on prom night. Not that she’d cry, because she didn’t actually care about Nathaniel and his hurt feelings. She didn’t! 

What she cared about was her revenge. 

“Cookie?” 

Yes, all she wanted was revenge against Josh Chan. He was the only man, the only boy that mattered right now. Only until she’d left him weeping, of course. 

He’d be sorry he abandoned her, sorry that he ever led her on and made her feel like glitter was exploding inside of her. He’d be sorry for the secretive affair, for not wanting to be with her out in the open. Joshua Felix Chan would be sorry for all of it. 

And maybe then, finally, she could get Nathaniel out of her head, and the way he’d looked at her after he said her name. 

“Rebecca!” 

“Don’t call me that,” she whirled around to confront Natha- Paula? 

Oh, right, they were supposed to be coming up with revenge plans together. 

“Cookie?” Paula seemed more than a little freaked out. 

“Sorry,” her apology was only slightly exaggerated. “My head was just off in the clouds, you know what that’s like.” 

Did she sound blase enough? Good, because it was awkward, the kind of bad awkward that people remembered. Especially when by people she meant her best friend and guidance counselor. Paula was too good at figuring things out for her to learn anything that might make her suspicious. 

Which was why she could never learn about what had happened between her and Nathaniel. No one ever needed to know that.

She was going to have enough trouble looking him in the eye ever again after that, and they were supposed to be love interests. In the show. She meant they were supposed to  _ play _ love interests. 

“Right,” Paula didn’t seem to buy it, not completely. 

“So, what’s the plan for Chan?” she purposefully rhymed, knowing it would distract Paula. 

As expected, Paula snickered happily. Sometimes she worried about her friend, about why she treated one of her students as her best friend instead of finding someone she was on more equal footing with. 

But that was not a concern right now. Right now, there was nothing but vengeance. 

“I have brought in an expert,” Paula grinned evilly. 

That was disconcerting. Not the grinning, no, she wholeheartedly approved of the evil grinning and possible future cackling. The bringing in an expert part was her real concern. 

Because who could this be? Who at this school was an expert on pain and vengeance and evil plans? (They were making evil plans!)

“Sup?” Heather Davis nodded as she dropped into one of the chairs. 

Wait, Heather was the expert? That made little to no sense - Heather was generally one of the most chill people in the entire school, and while she definitely wouldn’t let anyone mess with her, there was no vengeance in her bones. Heather was the kind of person who called someone out on their shit and then moved on with her life. 

Which was super cool, but definitely not what she was going for right now. 

“Heather,” she nodded like she’d been expecting this all along. 

“I’m just here for moral support,” Heather opened up a notebook and started doodling. “I’m thinking about being a psych major, and this is fascinating.” 

That was both the most and least surprising thing she’d ever heard Heather say. Which meant that it was actually perfectly on brand for Heather. 

She had a beanie over her messy curls, and this week the colored streaks in her hair appeared to be purple. Hipster culture had nothing on Heather. 

Honestly, she wished she were half as cool. 

“I’d say sorry for being late,” Valencia Perez threw open the door to Paula’s office, “but I’m not actually all that sorry. I had things to do.” 

What the actual hell was Paula thinking? This was probably the worst idea ever. 

Or the second worst, because practicing a kissing scene with Nathaniel Plimpton in an empty classroom might have been one for the books. Really, how did she think that was going to end? (Spoiler alert: sex. Lots of it.)

Ugh, why did she keep coming back to stupid Nathaniel?

Paula actually brought Valencia in on the revenge plan against Josh? Did she want Rebecca to get murdered? Because that was absolutely what was going to happen when Valencia found out she had been all over Josh when they were still dating. It was going to be death by yoga and claws. And words. Vicious, vicious words. 

She’d have to change schools after this - her mother might actually kill her, because changing schools this close to graduation was going to kill her chances at several of the Ivies she’d been forced to apply to. 

Was witness protection an option here? She could change her name and move across country. 

Rachel, she could be a Rachel. 

“I’m glad you’re here, miss Perez,” Paula was still smiling. “It’s time for us to destroy Josh Chan.” 

Now those were fighting words. Now she was interested. Now she was no longer distracted by Nathani- damn it. 

His face was just so damn distracting, especially his eyes. And his mouth. 

This was not helping! 

“Right, so I’m only here because I hate Josh Chan,” Valencia picked the most prominent chair to gracefully sit down in. “You were probably the reason he broke up with me, and I kind of hate you for it, but at least he didn’t leave me hanging on for another ten years. He’s scared of confrontation like that.”

That was a surprisingly mature standpoint from the person who’d been lowkey bullying every loser at this school for the past four years. 

Was she right to be suspicious of that, or was Valencia Perez actually growing? Had Heather’s mellow disposition rubbed off on her? Those two had been spending a lot of time together lately, and while it made sense for Valencia to be the alpha female, Heather’s almost supernatural calmness was kind of infectious. 

Either way, she should probably be grateful. 

“We all hate Josh Chan,” Paula was pleased at how well this was going. 

“I don’t,” Heather shrugged. “But keep going, this is fascinating.”

The four women came together as one to figure out what would hurt Josh Chan the most. It was almost inspirational. 

Oh my God, she was finally part of a girl group now! 

* * *

He’d been avoiding her for days, pretending his ego wasn’t bruised by her abrupt departure from that classroom. And it wasn’t, because he didn’t care about Rebecca Bunch. Not at all. 

It was just a little unflattering that even a pathetic loser like her bailed on him. That was all that was. 

Still, it was a good sign that he needed to stay focused, that he needed to do a few extra reps at the gym this week, because clearly his perfect physique was failing him. His body could not be trusted this week, especially not around Bunch. 

So, avoidance. 

Of course, that only went so far, because he still had to see her in rehearsals. But after his demand to work some more on some scenes that in no way involved Cinderella herself, Mr. Whitefeather had rather reluctantly acquiesced. 

After all, he did not want the show to fail because he’d left it all to depend on chemistry. That Jim guy was still woefully behind on learning his lines, and Tim wasn’t much better (if he finally managed to correctly guess who was who, anyway). They had a lot of catching up to do to get even in the same stratosphere as he was in. And that was the only reason why Nathaniel was currently running through the same few scenes over and over again until these idiots finally got it right. 

“Once again, from the top,” he ordered, barely even breaking a sweat. 

Jim and Tim - Tim and Jim? - were wrecks. The amount of sweat those idiots produced wasn’t quite healthy. And here he’d figured that Jim (it was Jim, right?) had been in excellent shape, seeing as how he showed up at the gym at least twice a week. 

Well, clearly he’d just been there for the girls, because that was all he could talk about. 

“Hello there fellas.” 

Of course there was no way that she could just let him be. Not in his dreams, and not in real life. No, Rebecca Bunch just had to interrupt his manly bonding time. 

(As if he would ever try to bond with any of these losers.)

“Hey Rebecca,” Jim immediately sidled up to her. 

“Jim, get back to work,” he ordered, rolling his eyes. “You’re still pathetically out of shape.”

It said something for his natural leadership skills that Jim didn’t even speak another word before he started another circuit of reps. Yes, he was a true leader. 

“That’s alright,” Bunch wasn’t deterred even for a second. “I wanted to talk to you anyway.”

Of course she wanted to talk to him now, when she could act like she had the moral high ground in front of their cast mates. She did so thrive around a captive audience, and he’d rather not have a dramatic confrontation straight out of Les Miserables. 

The word miserable was right there in the show title, and he’d actually seen it a few times. There was a lot of death, and both men involved in the Confrontation were dead by the end of the show. He didn’t exactly fancy ending up like that, not that he thought Bunch would actually resort to murdering him. He hadn’t quite earned that yet. 

Or had he? 

“I’m busy,” he dismissed her. 

He wasn’t even lying about that - he was busy because these idiots needed a lot of work and the premiere date was getting ever closer. They were due for their costume fitting soon, and if everything fit properly - and he’d made sure it would - they would start rehearsing in costume in a week or so. 

Which meant that in about a week, he was going to have serious trouble trying to look Bunch in the eyes - just the idea of her in a corset was already ruining his life. The reality would undoubtedly be much, much worse. 

“Or we can do this here,” she had him cornered and she knew it. 

Damn her and her everything. 

None of these losers were ever going to know about anything that had happened between him and Bunch. They might actually start to think that he was on their level, and then they’d treat him like their buddy. 

That could never happen, should never happen. He was superior in every way, like a Plimpton should be. 

“Maya, could you take over?” he left the tiniest girl in the group in charge. 

Oh, her looks were deceiving - that tiny person could take down every single fragile man boy in that group with just a few phrases. The time she explained to Tim that his long time girlfriend had been faking it with him had been particularly brutal - or just particularly entertaining for him. 

Maya could be trusted to run a tight ship. 

“Totes,” Maya saluted him. 

“Ma’am,” he nodded at her, playing along with her little joke. 

That seemed to surprise Bunch, as she stared back and forth between him and the tiny girl with the big glasses, as if there was a thing going on there that she wasn’t aware of. When all it was, was a congenial relationship between cast mates. Maya wasn’t completely useless, and she was willing to work hard, unlike most freshmen. 

It meant nothing, but Bunch was undoubtedly going to make a big production out of this small, insignificant moment. 

“Let’s go, Bunch,” he did not have the time or the patience for her usual shenanigans.

“No calling me Rebecca this time?” she pointedly asked as she followed him into the empty hallway. 

Oh yeah, she was not going to let that stupid mistake go. One freaking slip of the tongue and he was going to hear about it forever - or just until graduation, because there was no way he was ever going to see Rebecca Bunch again after that. 

They were going very different places in life - him to Stanford and her to some ridiculous drama school in New York, probably. That was where losers like her thrived. 

“You didn’t seem to like it last time,” he remarked, unwilling to let her have the last word about anything, not even this. “I never met anyone who was scared of their first name before.”

Yeah, that hit its mark, as it was intended to. How else was he supposed to get back the power he’d lost with a single word? 

Bunch would never let anyone call her afraid, and she especially would not let him get away with it. Her ego wouldn’t let her. 

“Scared?” she huffed, blowing herself up for proper hysterics. 

“Running away tends to mean fear,” he had the high ground now. 

It was funny how she tried to seem taller, tiny as she was compared to him. Sometimes, because of her giant personality, he almost forgot that she was tiny enough for him to pick up and carry. He was strong enough - stronger than that Chan idiot. 

Obviously, he was superior in every way, not that Bunch would notice. 

“Well, I’m not running now,” she crossed her arms over her chest. 

He looked down and gulped. Well, there went his focus. 

Damn her for continually distracting him from his moral high ground. Half the time, she wasn’t even doing it on purpose, but judging by the scheming glint in her eye, she was very aware of what she was doing right now. And she was most definitely up to something - she wanted something from him. 

“I’m so proud of you,” sarcasm dripped from his every word. 

Was she still on that revenge scheme? Probably. 

“Flattered,” she returned. “I’m still not scared, Nathaniel.”

Was she actually trying to make him say her name again, just to prove that she was not going to run away from him again? Yeah, he was not actually dumb enough to meekly follow along with that pathetic little scheme. 

He had his pride. 

It was not going to keep him warm at night, but he was still going to hold on to it for as long as he could. At least here at school, he had the possibility of maintaining his pride - at home, there was no question he had to swallow it and take whatever his father was in the mood to dish out that day. 

“What is it going to take?” Bunch was not amused by his silence. 

“What is what going to take?” he just had to play dumb, to make her say it. 

Was it about getting something out of her? Perhaps it was, perhaps he just wanted her to eat crow for a bit. Perhaps he just wanted her to be honest for once about where they stood - they’d been hiding in played parts and denial for a while now. Maybe some truth wouldn’t be so bad. 

Or maybe it would ruin everything. He’d be forced to give her truths in kind, and he had none to give. There was nothing to give, just pretty words that didn’t mean a thing, and a final dismissal either from her or from him. 

Because he didn’t actually care. 

“I need you to do it again,” she scrunched up her face at his raised eyebrow. “I need you to say my name again.”

And neither did she. He was a convenient means to end when it came to the Chan Plan - he was not foolish enough to think that she’d given up on Josh Chan just because he’d dumped her. If he apologized, she’d take him back (not that she’d ever had him before). 

It was true love after all. 

“Is Josh coming by?” he was not fooled. 

“Yes,” she couldn’t even look at him as she said it. 

He laughed, because what else could he do? Walk away and tell her he was not going to be a part of this ridiculous scheme? That would mean something. 

“It won’t work,” he just said, because someone had to say it. 

Her friends - since when was she friends with Valencia Perez anyway? - clearly hadn’t discouraged her from any of these ridiculous schemes. Him saying something wouldn’t actually change anything, but at least he said something. 

Giving her false hope seemed more cruel, somehow. 

“I don’t care,” she seemed smaller then. 

Still, he pressed on, reminding himself that he didn’t actually give a damn about her hurt feelings. 

Or his own. 

“Fine,” he ignored whatever passed for inner turmoil in his head. “If your kink is being called by your first name.”

Yes, he was absolutely going to be an asshole about this. She’d left him hanging, embarrassed him, no matter how much he was not willing to admit that. There was no way that he was going to let her off so easily. 

“Nathaniel,” she pointedly caressed every single syllable of his name. 

That was not a thing for him. He did not just kinkshame her about this, only to feel his pants getting tight just because she said his full name in that soft voice she hardly ever let him hear, with her head slightly tilted and her eyes filled with warmth. 

He was not going to get turned on by her play-acting at kindness. He was going to beat her at this game. 

“Rebecca,” his voice was low, hinting at hoarseness. 

Did he do that on purpose, or did that just happen when she smiled at him like that? 

There was no guile in her in that moment, just a soft smile and a slight widening of her eyes, as if he’d said something that she’d actually been waiting to hear. Had she, maybe - no. No, it didn’t matter. 

“Rebecca,” he dumbly repeated, taking a step closer to her. 

She followed his lead - that never happened - and moved in closer as well. His eyes frantically roamed the hallway, trying to find Chan’s hiding place. Obviously Rebecca, Bunch had spotted him and now she was just playing along for her revenge plan. 

But there was no one else there. Just like in the room, when he was left angry and rejected. 

There were so many feelings bubbling up inside of him and he didn’t want to feel any of them - but just being faced with Rebecca so close to him made them impossible to avoid. Maybe he had the right idea when he avoided her for several days in a row. 

Avoiding her made things easier, left him clear headed for once, instead of feeling muddled and constantly confused about what the hell was going on with him and where his life was going. He knew exactly where his life was going, he knew what he was going to be doing with the rest of his life, and it had never seemed particularly confusing before. 

These stupid losers were getting to him. Rebecca was getting to him. 

Rebecca was suspiciously silent, and he was not willing to break the silence either. Any word would just ruin the fragile peace that existed between the two of them. 

Her hand had once again landed on his shoulder. He knew where this was going, and he wasn’t exactly protesting. 

He wanted her, he was very aware of that. He wasn’t conflicted about that. 

She kissed him again. 

It wasn’t like the last time. This time she reached up on her tiptoes, her moves gentle and languid as she pressed closer to him. 

Their lips met once, twice, and then a third time. 

Time slowed down, sped up, and then stopped completely. There was a faint buzzing of people in the hallway. They weren’t alone, but he couldn’t be bothered to see just who was there and what their response was to Rebecca kissing him so softly. 

This was everything he’d dreamed of. It was different somehow, but he didn’t exactly understand how. It didn’t make sense. 

She pulled back, breathing heavily, and he smiled down at her. He probably looked like a complete dope, but she didn’t make fun of him for it. 

“Rebecca,” he said her name again, just because he could. 

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Josh Chan passing by. His eyes widened as he saw Rebecca with him, but he never paused. 

He didn’t tell Rebecca. That would be cruel. 

* * *

So they’d kissed again. 

It still didn’t mean anything. Not at all. 

She just had a brief lapse of judgment and kissed Nathaniel Plimpton in a very public hallway without Josh Chan being anywhere in the vicinity. 

Maybe not all was lost though - Josh had probably heard about it by now, because the rumors were spreading like wildfire. Most of the rumors involved him seducing her for some bet (so her She’s All That idea wasn’t even that outlandish), but they at least got the very public kissing right. 

Some of the stories even made it seem a little romantic, some story of star-crossed lovers meeting on the stage and falling for each other just as their characters had. Those stories talked of stealing romantic moments - some people even told tales of Nathaniel plying her with romantic gifts. 

There were boys who acted more… immaturely. Comments about how she must have some assets that tempted the great Nathaniel Plimpton were now a regular part of her day. Whispered asides about how she must be a freak in the sack lasted for about a week before they quite abruptly stopped. 

Nathaniel was behind that, she would put money on it. 

She hadn’t talked to him outside of rehearsal for a week. She just couldn’t face him after she’d so stupidly let herself be soft and kind and vulnerable in front of him. 

But how could she not have kissed him when he said her name like that? 

He’d looked almost lost, those blue eyes wide and questioning. She couldn’t take it, couldn’t stand him looking at her so softly. She had to kiss him. 

At least then he wouldn’t stare at her with feelings in his eyes. They looked like feelings anyway, but how would she know what feelings looked like on a soulless automaton like Nathaniel Plimpton the Third? 

Except he wasn’t soulless. She’d actually hurt his fragile little man baby feelings when she left that first time. She wasn’t even aware that he could have feelings - she didn’t want him to have that ability. 

That was just too much, too complicated. She wanted her revenge on Josh and then she would be free to leave this place in a few months. 

New York was calling her and she had to answer. Her future was right there, amidst the bright lights of Broadway, no matter what her mother said about doing pre-law as a solid backup if her little hobby didn’t actually turn into something. 

She just had to get through this show without caring too much about Nathaniel, about anyone else. She could leave Paula - there would be other students who needed her help a little too much. She could leave her girl group - they’d forget all about her anyway when they all went to different colleges. Or no college at all, because Valencia was not planning on going anywhere. She could leave Nathaniel in California, leave him to become that asshole he was genetically predisposed to become. 

In ten years, at their high school reunion, she’d swoop in with her first Tony award and look down on everyone who’d ever made her feel inferior, and he’d be there with his first (or second) trophy wife, still trying to fill his daddy’s shoes. Maybe their eyes would meet briefly, and she’d remember this moment. But that was how their story ended, how it was supposed to go. 

If she wasn’t meant for Josh Chan, maybe she just wasn’t meant for anyone after all. Maybe the stage was supposed to be the real love of her life. 

At least she had learned that much. 

That was something she could do, throwing herself into her career, throwing herself into the world of Cinderella for these last few weeks (barely months). She could pretend to be the commoner turned princess, and she could sing and dance with her prince. 

Ella could have her true love and her happily ever after. Rebecca could have a career and the memory of a few heated kisses with a boy she could never care about. 

The hormones were still there, buzzing under her skin, and she would be on top of him right this second if she believed that she could pull it off without him getting soft and gooey and kind on her. 

Ugh, that was not hot. It wasn’t. 

Why couldn’t he just let her be all over him without consequences? 

“Are you comfortable?” Maya pulled at the lacing on the back of her corset. “Not too tight?”

The answer to the first question was definitely a no, but the second question was probably safer to answer. Seeing as that answer would actually be related to her costume. 

“It’s fine,” she tried to sound calmer than she currently felt. “Thanks Maya.” 

“No probs,” the freshman shrugged. “Short girls have to stick together.”

They pulled on the dress together, awkwardly lifting it over her head as Maya tried not to fall off the stool that was the only way Maya was tall enough to assist with this part.

“Just the zipper now,” Maya easily fixed up the dress. 

Shouldn’t it be too tight and uncomfortable? That was her experience with costumes in this school, always made for the pretty, skinny girls. Not this time. 

“All done,” the tiny freshman hopped off the stool. “You totes look like a princess. Hashtag fairy tales, hashtag true love’s kiss, hashtag happily ever after.”

And with that, Maya rushed off to help someone else, and she was left staring at herself in the mirror. All she saw was a complete stranger. 

She’d pulled her hair back awkwardly, and she wasn’t wearing a crown yet, but from the neck down she looked like an actual princess. The corset emphasized her chest a little too much, but since the dress was actually made with her measurements in mind, she wasn’t too uncomfortable. She actually looked like she had a waist, and the big skirt made her feel like she actually was a princess. 

“Knock knock,” Mr. Whitefeather was waiting outside the door. 

“I’m coming out,” she called, taking one last look at that strange royal creature she saw in the glass. 

How was this regal women the same pathetic girl she saw in her reflection this morning? 

Shaking off those thoughts, she stepped out into the hallway, holding her skirts so that she wouldn’t step on them and embarrass herself in front of everyone. There was just so much to this dress that she had to consider. 

“Miss Bunch, you look like an actual princess,” Mr. Whitefeather gushed. “I think the color is perfect too. It’ll match your prince.”

Nathaniel would be in costume too. Oh, she hadn’t even considered that. As much as she wanted to think that he might just look ridiculous, she was a woman with eyes. There was not much that Nathaniel could not pull off. 

He was going to have the girls in their class throwing their panties at him, and she’d have to pretend like the idea of that didn’t sting. 

She was gliding down the hall into the auditorium, where everyone else was gathering to see their friends in their costumes. Heather and Valencia were helping each other, adjusting bows and lines on each other’s dresses, touches lingering a little longer than strictly necessary. 

So that was happening now. 

“Meet your princess,” Mr. Whitefeather stopped them right in front of Nathaniel. 

She looked up at him slowly, terrified that he’d shatter her blooming confidence with a well-placed remark - but even more scared that he would not react at all. 

Everything stilled for a second, and then their eyes met. 

His reaction was everything she hoped for. Not that she’d thought about his reaction to her in this dress even for a second. No not at all. 

Once again, he stood ramrod straight, almost too still to keep breathing. His eyes roamed over her body slowly, hotly, until she felt goosebumps break out on her skin. He took a deep breath then, his body slowly going back to normal posture as he tried to act like she didn’t affect him at all. 

Well buddy, kinda missed the mark on that one. 

She was getting to him, and not even in his stupid heart-eyed way. No, this was chemistry fizzling between them, desperately trying to pull them closer. 

It was Mr. Whitefeather who gave them an excuse, a reason other than just temporary insanity to reach for each other. 

“How about you try your dance?” Mr. Whitefeather proposed. “You need to get a feel for how the dress is going to move. You might need to adjust the distance between you two a bit. You’ve been dancing closer than the dress might allow. We just need to be sure.”

They had been moving closer and closer in rehearsals - she didn’t think anyone would notice, except maybe Nathaniel. He noticed. She’d felt that he noticed. 

Her face was flushing just thinking about how often she’d noticed, about how sometimes it seemed like he was in a constant state of arousal around her. It was only fair. 

“Your highness,” she curtsied and he bowed. 

The kiss on the hand had never officially been added to their choreography, he’d just started doing it one time and it had stuck. And they’d never faked the gesture, had always committed to this part wholeheartedly and grabbed on to any excuse they had to touch each other. Or at least, that was her excuse. Was it his as well? 

“Milady,” he murmured as he stood up straight. “Would you like to dance?”

She could hear music in the background, and everyone else in the room was fading away until there was no one there except the two of them, just as it was supposed to be. Her stupid, confusing prince had placed his hand in hers again, and she’d tried not to trip over her skirts as he swept her off her feet. 

The music got louder, and they swept through the choreography like it was second nature, because by now it was. She felt like she would remember these steps for the rest of her life, like she could be woken up in the middle of the night and still follow every step. 

Still, it was different with her giant skirt swishing between the two of them. Breathing was difficult enough, but that had nothing to do with the corset and everything to do with the way her prince just would not stop looking at her. 

He led her around the floor, still pressing as close to her as her damn dress would allow - not close enough, but they managed. Their hands were the only real points of contact for a while, until they fell into the crescendo of movements that led to her favorite part of the dance: the ending. 

Nathaniel’s arms were around her waist, and as she let herself fall down into his hold without hesitation, he never stopped looking at her face, even though her chest was right freaking there and looking spectacular in her corset. 

His eyes never strayed as he held her for endless seconds. Her heart was pounding heavily in her chest. There was glitter exploding inside of her once again. 

Gently, slowly, safely he pulled her up into a standing position, standing much too close for this to be entirely proper for a royal ball. 

She did not care, and neither did he. 

God, she wanted to kiss him again, wanted to hear him break the illusion of acting by whispering her name in her ear. Had anyone ever said her name quite like that, like they were marvelling at the luck of being allowed to say it? 

No one that she could remember. 

“Nathaniel Plimpton,” a deep voice bellowed. “You take off that ridiculous outfit this instance! What do you think you are doing?”

That broke the soft spell they’d been under. There were others in the room again, but she refused to look in the direction of the voice - maybe Mr. Whitefeather would send away the intruder and they’d just be able to try again. 

This was not how it ended. 

She glanced up at Nathaniel. He’d gone completely still in the most unnatural way, as if he’d snap in half if she so much as breathed on him too harshly. His eyes were wide, his skin no longer golden but pale and clammy in her warm hold. 

“Father,” he breathed, panic in his electric blue eyes. 


	4. Nobody does mean like Senior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel isn't doing well, and Rebecca wants to kill the understudy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People who get the title reference get extra brownie points. 
> 
> Also, Nathaniel is NOT in a good place this chapter. Just so you know...

The entire room seemed like it was frozen in amber. No one dared to move, in fear of what would happen if Father noticed that there were other people in this room. 

Everyone was still except for Rebecca. She was still standing in front of him, still with her hand on his chest in the aftermath of their dance. Her skirts fanned out around them, with only them in this protective little bubble, the one his father had just shattered with his cold fury. 

Her hand slowly slid down his chest, and he gulped. Why did she have to do this to him now? 

“Deep breaths,” she whispered, taking his hand in hers. 

Was this another panic attack? He felt like he was barely in his body anymore, and things were becoming hazy and muddled. 

He then realized he was barely breathing, breath caught in his throat and starting to hyperventilate while at the same time trying to stay absolutely still so his father wouldn’t notice his weakness. Father did not take kindly to anything less than perfection. 

“Nathaniel,” Rebecca was still right there, seeing all of him. 

“Can’t breathe,” he wheezed, trying to explain, trying to make her let him go. 

She kept cool, displaying no sign of her panic to his father - he wished he knew how to do that. Father could always tell when he wasn’t quite his best, and he always chose that very moment to put more pressure on him. 

Plimptons were supposed to be able to handle this pressure. He was a fraud, a failure, and there was no way he could apologize for his existence enough - his father had made sure that he knew that. 

“Nathaniel,” his father sensed that he was not getting all the attention he was due. 

Was he even still breathing? He couldn’t tell, couldn’t hear anything but the pounding in his ears and couldn’t see anything past Rebecca. She’d taken up his entire field of vision somehow, which shouldn’t be possible because she was so short. 

It was then that he’d realized he’d fallen to his knees, letting go of Rebecca’s hand on the way. 

“Sorry,” her voice was scarily gentle. “I know this dress is cumbersome. It makes sense that you tripped on it.” 

Lies, all lies. But lies with a purpose: drawing his father’s attention to her and that costume, giving him an excuse other than a panic attack for why his son was on his knees. 

How did she know? How could she know exactly what to do, when he didn’t even know and he’d been like this so many times before? He’d snapped himself out of it on the bathroom floor, or his bed… So why not now? 

“Hey,” Rebecca’s hand was warm on his cheek. 

He held his breath, wondering about how she’d be punished for showing him such kindness - the gods never did approve of it. 

After twenty seconds, when no other immediate danger was perceived, he let out a shuddering breath. He felt his breathing go back to normal, slowly but surely, as he looked up at Rebecca. 

“Yes father,” he could finally speak again. “I will be right out. I assume they want the costume back.” 

Well, that was the end of that dream, of the idea that he could do anything but be the imperfect copy of his father he’d always been. He’d at least wanted to hold up his end of the bargain with Mr. Whitefeather. 

The man had been nothing but kind to him since the blackmail, and he owed him a little more than he was getting here. He’d just have to find a new lead, have to find someone to fill his shoes - the uncomfortable costume shoes he’d have to leave behind here. Well, at least he wasn’t sad about the stupid shoes. 

Not that he was sad about leaving this ragtag band of idiots - because he didn’t actually care about any of them. They’d put on a subpar show without him, but it wasn’t his job to draw them up from the bare minimum hints of mediocrity. 

Coldly he stood up and shrugged off the jacket, folding it neatly and leaving it on a nearby table. He kicked off the shoes, the buckles hitting the table leg. 

The sound didn’t jar anyone except Rebecca - all of the others had done nothing, had only moved away from the carnage to let him handle it all by himself. Good, he didn’t want any interference from those losers anyway. 

Rebecca wasn’t letting this happen, though. And it made him… unsure. 

“Nathaniel,” she just said his name as he took himself into one of the makeshift dressing rooms. 

“Bunch,” he tried to turn back the clock to when names didn’t mean anything. 

She had no interest in preserving any kind of modesty, she just followed him into the room and did not take her eyes off him for even a second. Even when he took the ornate shirt off, leaving him shirtless and sweaty. 

He knew that was a thing for her, and he was absolutely making that work for him. Maybe if she was distracted, she wouldn’t get all riled up about this in front of his father - that would not end well for her. 

So he started unbuttoning the pants, smiling smugly at her all the while. It was so much easier to just be an asshole again. 

“Don’t do that,” she crossed her arms over her chest - still distracting. 

“Don’t get naked?” he slid right back into their old banter. “I’m getting mixed messages here.” 

The stupid tight pants were low on his hips, and her eyes couldn’t stop going down - and then going back up every time she was caught in the act. Obviously she still wanted to hit that, and he couldn’t blame her. 

But she had too many feelings for him to ever let that happen. God forbid he’d catch some. 

“Don’t leave,” she told him, her chin raised to pretend like she wasn’t begging. 

Case in point. 

“I never wanted to be here, Bunch,” he grabbed his own shirt and buttoned it slowly. “Your dear Mr. Whitefeather forced me to do it. And now I have my way out.” 

It was a good escape - he never had his father’s permission, and not even Mr. Whitefeather or anyone in this entire school could do something against his father. So they’d let him go, if only to keep their donations. Perhaps there’d be a Plimpton business wing soon, or some ornate library, just to keep his father happy. 

Wouldn’t be the first time. It was why the local hospital had a Plimpton wing. 

“Have you ever even told him no?” Rebecca pointedly looked away while he switched his pants. 

“Look who’s talking,” his slacks were slightly creased, another slight on his father. “Your mother still believes that you’ll do pre-law in college.” 

It was all well and easy to talk to him about just saying no to his father when she’d never even told her mother anything about her college plans, or anything really. Hypocrisy was always easier, he knew that much. 

“I never told you that,” Rebecca was immediately suspicious of him. 

Ah, he loved it when a plan came together. 

“Our housekeeper is Jewish,” he fixed his tie. “Your mom likes to brag about her smart, future Ivy League lawyer, misguided daughter.” 

There was no reason for him to stick around in this room. He looked like himself again, like the old Nathaniel Plimpton the Third. The man he was supposed to be. And there was no reason for him to look mournfully at the Prince Topher costume that he’d been wearing before, no reason to feel the slightest hint of regret that he’d never get to dance with Rebecca in front of a crowd, never get to sing his songs with people he’d grown not to hate too much. 

It was time to move on from these losers. 

“I have told my mom about my future,” Rebecca tried to stop him from leaving the room. “It is just that she refuses to hear it. But I’m eighteen and I’ll do it on my own if I have to.” 

That was a naive kind of irrealism that he couldn’t stand by. There was no way that it was feasible - sure, she was talented, but to do this without any kind of support and with the terrible production of Cinderella she was going to headline? She was doomed - she had to see that. She was smart enough for it anyway. 

Still she was going to try to do this foolish thing - something about dreams and happiness. A foreign concept for him, that much was sure. 

“I’m happy for you,” he didn’t sound bitter at all. “I don’t have that option.” 

He didn’t even want to get out from under his father’s thumb - that was what was going to make him the most successful version of himself. He needed to be that version of himself if he was ever going to survive this cruel world - he could not afford to be weak, like his mother. People would use that against him. 

People couldn’t be trusted. 

“Unacceptable,” she just whirled around in that giant princess dress and marched out of the room with remarkable grace. 

It took him a second to follow Rebecca out, too distracted by trying to fix his own brain. He needed to be his true self again, no more thoughts of Rebecca and of how he’d felt when they’d danced together in these silly costumes. 

No more. It was time to be his best self. 

Of course, by the time he’d left the room, Rebecca had already confronted his father. She was tiny in comparison, but she’d never let that stop her. 

“Mr. Plimpton,” she put on her best smile, even though it wouldn’t work. “How kind of you to come visit our rehearsals. Your son is extremely talented.” 

Father did not react. He did not even look at her, having immediately dismissed her as someone unimportant. 

That left a feeling of wrongness in his stomach, but he’d long since learned to ignore that by doing a couple extra crunches, or eating some more kale. Yeah, he’d start doing that the second his father got done with him. 

Smart. Surely his father had seen how fat he’d gotten, because the costume had been so tight. Yeah, he’d need to work on that. 

“Let’s go, Nathaniel,” his father had spotted him. 

“Yes Father,” he bowed his head to his superior. 

His next week had changed, and he was already mentally retooling his schedule so that his father might approve of it. Extra time in the gym instead of rehearsals, straight home after school so the housekeeper might keep an eye on him. 

At this very moment, the lock would be taken off his door, because he was no longer allowed privacy after he’d screwed up so massively. His mother would be overseeing it, and her disappointment in him hurt worst of all - who knows how much he’d impeded her recovery this time? 

Time to lock it down, time to be the son his mother deserved. 

“Goodbye Rebecca.” 

He tried not to look back at the look on her face, but he couldn’t help himself. She seemed so small, swallowed up by this gigantic gown. Still she kept her head up as she watched him walk out. 

She’d done this before, and he would hate himself for doing it to her if he had any emotion left inside of him. 

“You have disappointed me,” Father started as soon as the door closed behind them. “I should have known you were too much like your mother to live without guidance. I figured that since you were eighteen now, you might have figured out what was good for you. Clearly, I was wrong.” 

He was not allowed to respond, so he bowed his head and followed his father to the car, trying to maintain his emotionless facade. 

Damn, he’d really hurt her - he didn’t even think she cared. 

Well, she didn’t anymore. He’d made sure of that. 

* * *

The show must go on. It had to.

She didn’t have a choice - none of them did. Not after that tragic excuse for a parental figure took their male lead and he’d just let himself be taken away. 

Sure, he’d claimed that he’d never wanted to be here, but he was wrong. Maybe he hadn’t started out enthusiastically, and maybe he still didn’t love this place quite as much as she did, but they’d gotten under his skin. 

Or at least she thought they had - that she had gotten to him. For a hot second she’d been sure that he’d been halfway to falling in love with her. 

Gross, sappy, and seriously stupid, but she’d seen it in his eyes when he said her name. When he kissed her, when he danced with her, and even in his final goodbye. Before he closed himself off to her, that was. 

The entire group had been hiding from Plimpton Senior, so she’d been the only one in the room to see that look in his eyes when he turned back that final time. 

Those damn soulful eyes of his that had ruined her more than once. He’d looked at her like he was tempted to turn around, but he’d left anyway. They always did. 

She’d been expecting him to leave ever since she found out that he was going to be in the show, so she’d almost been prepared for it. Still, she hadn’t been prepared to feel like she cared whether he left or not. 

And she really had not been prepared to work with Nathaniel’s understudy. 

Freaking Graham. 

“Once again,” Mr. Whitefeather regretfully called out. “From the top.”

Not only was the stupid boy terribly unprepared for the part, he had seriously big shoes to fill when it came to charisma, chemistry, and natural leadership. Grant was not prepared to lead anything, let alone a cast of seriously stressed out high school students. 

Mr. Whitefeather was even worse equipped to handle this, so she’d had to step up and run this thing - hoping that she wouldn’t just run it into the ground. 

Sure, formally speaking their teacher was still in charge, but his lackadaisical enthusiasm no longer hyped up anyone. She was the only one who still had even an inkling of faith in this group. 

Well, in anyone except for Geoff. 

“From the top means from the beginning of the ball,” she tried so hard to keep a smile on her face, but she was sure that the murder in her eyes still shone through. 

“Thanks Becks,” the boy grinned and hopped back to his initial position. 

“Don’t call me that,” she reminded him for the umpteenth time. 

She hated it when Josh said it, and she hated it even more now. Really, when it came to this idiot, she’d rather he did not address her at all. 

He didn’t sound right saying her name. Her character name mostly, but also her real name. 

Why was she still focused on that indescribable way that Nathaniel had said her name? It was done, it was over, and she needed to move the hell on. 

Not that there was even anything to move on from - it was nothing. A few stolen kisses and a parody of intimacy that had ended a little too quickly, before she’d done something she really regretted, like actually starting to give a damn about this soulless monster. Clearly she’d been confusing the prince and the prat a little too much. 

“Stop,” Mr. Whitefeather called before she’d even come into the scene. 

Her legs were starting to hurt from all the standing around she’d been doing, waiting for a stupid prince who was never going to come. 

But she was not the only one waiting. The other girls were also waiting in the wings, hoping that at some point in the next hour, they’d actually get to the part of the scene they were featured in. It was looking like a long shot though. 

Was this another moment where she was supposed to say something encouraging? Would that fix the ever increasing frustration in the atmosphere? 

“Nathaniel was always encouraging,” Maya muttered, the small girl seeming even smaller as she curled up in a random chair. “Did you know that he got me the job as head marketer for this show? Hashtag actual prince. Hashtag high school theatre. Hashtag Rebecella slash Nathopher.” 

So Maya shipped it. Great. She really needed that extra sting to make her feel even better about what a total failure of a show this was going to be. 

No Rebecca, don’t let that show!

If she lost faith publicly, then they’d just have to give up before they even put on the first performance. She was the only one holding this thing together - if she just repeated that to herself enough times, maybe she’d be less quick to anger. 

“Well that asshole Nathaniel isn’t here,” she was short with Maya. 

And if he were here, she’d have a whole bunch of words to say to him. But that was not the point - he was never going to return. He’d abandoned her, abandoned them in their hour of need like the true piece of trash he was. He’d just let his father take him away without a word of protest. 

Why didn’t he fight for her? For the show? 

“Whoah, Rebecca, slow down,” Heather intervened before she could really get into it with the freshman girl. “How about we take a little break while Mr. Whitefeather helps Greg run through his first few lines again?” 

The idea of a break was starting to sound really good, because with all of the anger and frustration in her, she was starting to boil over. She couldn’t keep sniping at the cast mates that she still had - they couldn’t have more people leave. 

It was already bad enough. 

“His name isn’t Greg,” she huffed. 

“Then what is it?” Heather seemed genuinely puzzled. “Because I’ve been calling him Greg for the entire year and he’s never corrected me.” 

Sadly, she would have remembered his name if it had been Greg. Because Greg was competent even when he was a complete mess - and when Nathaniel left she’d been tempted to drag Greg kicking and screaming from Emory to fill his shoes. Clearly Greg could have pulled it off - it was like he was actually made for the part. 

Still Nathaniel was her favorite prince - which was a problem. A problem that she was conveniently going to forget about in five, four, three…

Nothing. No change. 

“I don’t know,” she shrugged in Heather’s general direction. “I’ve been calling him everything from Geoff to Graham and he’s always responded.” 

Really, did this idiots name even matter? As long as he didn’t have any problems with being referred to by any name in the book, they could just keep focusing on the show and she would have a distraction from all these stupid emotions. 

This was all Nathaniel’s fault. All of it. 

“Identity issues, interesting,” Heather nodded. “Look girlfriend, you clearly need a distraction now that there’s no tall guy around to get you all hot and bothered.” 

She was half tempted to take offense to that assessment, but she couldn’t blame Heather for being right about her stupid lusty feelings for Nathaniel. There had been a time or two that she almost would have climbed him like a sequoia in front of the entire cast. 

Luckily most of these moments occured when it had been just the two of them. 

Pathetically enough, she missed their dances. 

“I know it’s wrong,” she admitted it to Heather. 

Maya had long since focused on something else, leaving them to talk about things that impressionable freshmen really did not need to overhear. Also, Maya was a little too liberal with sharing certain conversations on various social media - and this thing she might have developed for Nathaniel never needed to be shared anywhere. 

“Wrong?” Heather repeated, as if tasting the word on her tongue. “It’s a trainwreck, but the kind that ends with both of you being happy.” 

Sure, the trainwreck part of that sentence absolutely made sense to her. He was an asshole and she was seriously ill-equipped to handle any kind of connection with anyone at this moment. It was all doomed to crash and burn. 

Except Heather seemed to disagree with that assessment. And Heather was smart, so she was usually right about stuff. So why was she so wrong about this? 

“What?” she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. 

“He’s an asshole,” Heather explained it, shrugging as usual. “And you can be a bitch some of the time. Remember when you were supposed to look after my starfish?” 

Of course she remembered - it had been just a few weeks ago. She hadn’t actually been hanging out with Heather that long, so there was no way she would have forgotten about anything… Except for looking after that damn starfish.

She was a garbage friend. 

“You’re lucky V came through for me,” Heather pointed out sharply, before she went right back to her usual mellow tone. “I guess you two just work together - which is probably why Mr. W pulled his whole blackmail scheme.” 

Well, she knew that Nathaniel hadn’t actually joined their group voluntarily, but for Mr. Whitefeather to actually have blackmailed him? Sure, inappropriate actions were almost considered normal at this school, but Mr. Whitefeather had always been an exception to the more heinous stuff. 

Announcing that he was bisexual at a pep rally (with a song and dance number) had been the worst of his offenses thus far. 

“Blackmail?” she hissed, trying to make sure they weren’t overheard. 

“It’s kind of cool,” Heather observed. “It’s like he knew the best people for these parts weren’t actually part of the drama club. He’s kinda smart.” 

Sadly, this new information left her a little more impressed by Mr. Whitefeather. 

Still, she doubted that he’d foreseen that Nathaniel wouldn’t get to be part of this group for long. 

Ugh, she had to stop making everything about Nathaniel. The show had to go on without him, and so did she. 

* * *

That one banana hadn’t been so big before, when he picked it from the basket of fruit the housekeeper had set on the counter.

He could have sworn it had been smaller then, small enough for him to eat in full. But he was just so full, and he’d barely finished half. 

No, he wasn’t. He couldn’t lie to himself, because the rumblings in his stomach were getting more and more uncomfortable. He hadn’t been able to keep much of anything down these last few days. 

His stupid fat body didn’t deserve all that food anyway. 

He had to be his best - this wasn’t his best. 

But was his best eating the damn thing, or was it no longer forcing himself to eat? He could feel himself getting bigger with every single bite he took. He knew that wasn’t actually possible, knew that eating that single banana would be the best thing he’d done for himself ever since he’d been confined to the house. 

Bar school, of course. Father would never accept him missing even a single lesson. 

And Father’s wishes were all that mattered right now - he’d lost the right to have his own hopes and dreams. 

He deserved that, because look at what he’d done with his freedom? He’d tried to pursue a career in theater! What kind of foolish career was that? How frivolous, how stupid - no matter that he’d been almost happy for a little while there. 

Happiness wasn’t actually important - wealth was, and success. And if he still couldn’t understand that, his father was never going to trust him with the company. He just had seven years of college and law school to go before he could start being useful to his father. That did not mean he could waste those seven years doing theater, though. 

The banana seemed even bigger now. 

“Nathaniel, dear?” his mother had entered the room while he had been lost in thought. “Are you still here? I thought you were supposed to rehearse today.” 

Of course he was still here - he wasn’t actually allowed to leave the house on a Saturday. He could frequent the fitness room and go for a run around the grounds if he was accompanied by a trainer. But he was not to leave. 

Wait, rehearse?

“Rehearse?” he echoed, unsure where his mother was going with this. 

“Yes dear,” Mother just smiled at him absentmindedly as she rummaged through the drawers and cupboards. “Aren’t you doing that show at school?” 

All the alarm bells in his head simultaneously went off - there was no way that his mother could know about the show. Father never would have told her a thing, because she might have actually encouraged him. 

Mother just didn’t understand the Plimpton family priorities. It wasn’t her fault, he knew that. 

“Why would you think that?” he made himself sound dismissive, like his father’s son. 

He was always his father’s son first, and his own person second. 

“I talked to your guidance counselor,” she was still absentmindedly looking through the cupboards, hoping to find one of her random things, he was sure. “I was worried about you, dear. You never bring any friends over.” 

Now he was the worried one. His mother only cared about him when she was spiraling again, heading towards another breakdown. It was then that she started pretending that they were a normal family and the good son was supposed to bring over friends and have hobbies and maybe even have a girlfriend. 

No one had ever told him the perfect way to deal with it. Father told him to pretend she hadn’t said anything at all, and to notify the doctors as soon as possible before this turned into a full-on episode. The doctors themselves had differing opinions, from just harmlessly playing along, or gently making her see that these were rose-colored glasses that she was wearing. This one guy had said he was supposed to call his mother out on her delusions, no matter how harsh he had to get with her. That one he could never do - wouldn’t that just lead to the very episodes they were avoiding? 

He just never wanted to walk in on her like that ever again. 

“You know what Father says about friends,” he tried to choose a way in between the options, hoping to talk his way out of this. 

“Your father isn’t right about everything, dear,” his mother had actually managed to make herself a cup of coffee. 

She liked it black - like her soul, she’d say in her loopiest moments, the ones where she refused to take her meds. The ones in which she scared him with off-color jokes and twisted observations. 

“Mother,” he shook his head, unsure of what to say. 

“Your guidance counselor told me a lot of things,” she continued as if he had said nothing at all. “You got the lead in the show, and you’re really good. She is going to call me when tickets go on sale, so I can get them before they sell out.” 

Once Mrs. Proctor called his mother in a few weeks - if she ever did, seeing as he wasn’t actually in the show anymore - Mother undoubtedly wouldn’t even remember this conversation. She’d be forced back into a serious drug regimen, and all personality she’d displayed would vanish. 

He knew the drill. 

“And there was something about a girl,” his proper and demure mother actually sounded like she was teasing him. 

“I do not want to talk about Rebecca,” the name slipped out too easily. 

As soon as he said it, he had to look down at his food. A little more of it was gone now, eaten while his mother was distracting him with her odd behavior, but it still felt like finishing it was going to be a Herculean task. 

“Rebecca,” Mother repeated the name, a soft smile on her features. 

Of course that was when their housekeeper returned, frantically looking for his Mother. This was how it always started. 

“Sorry Mister Nathaniel,” she immediately started apologizing. “She just got away from me. I’ll bring her back to her rooms immediately.” 

Yes, her rooms, where all the comforts of a mental hospital awaited - just none of the stigma. It was just that much more convenient for his father, and for the business. Sometimes he just wondered if his mother was actually getting all the help she needed. 

Even if she wasn’t, there was nothing that he could do. Father’s word was law. 

“Thank you,” was all he could say. 

Why was he so damn useless in every possible way? 

Nothing. He did nothing. Not even for his mother, not even for the woman who’d given him life could he pull his own head out of his ass long enough to make a difference. He just continued to play the good little puppet, the good little son. 

He would never go against his father’s wishes, even though every muscle in his body ached for him to just say no at least once. To just give his mother her space and let her think that he had friends and a life out there other than being a clone his father could mould and shape in the exact way he wanted. 

What he wanted? Did he even know what he wanted? 

Perhaps, to go back to the show, to the complete idiots who’d treated him like a friend and a leader, even when he’d been in full asshole Plimpton mode in every single rehearsal. To go back to school and be allowed to talk to Rebecca again, no matter how terrified she might be that he’d spout some inane words about feelings at her. 

Even to eat a piece of fruit without feeling sick and disgusting and so damn fat. To be able to overcome those evil voices again, the ones his father had so firmly re-planted in his head with every reminder of how much of a failure he was. 

Maybe if he just stopped eating he’d be a good son. 

Maybe he just needed to stop being the good son. 

Maybe both of these were wrong, but how was he to know? 

He gave the remains of the banana the evil eye and threw the leftovers in the garbage. 

Time to hit the gym again. 

* * *

The conclusion had actually been rather easy to come to, when she actually took the time to think of it dispassionately.

She wanted to get scholarships to several good theater programs, and the way to get these scholarships was to perform an excellent show that was sure to get her noticed. She had all the basic circumstances right for it too: a prestigious public school performance of a musical theater classic, with her in the lead role. The costumes were perfect this year, and the supporting cast had actually managed to live up to their parts - with some more tough love from her, they might even live up to her exacting standards. 

Gavin was the only problem - he just wasn’t getting it, coming in late with his lines and ruining the rhythm of the show, and still tripping over his own feet even with all of the extra rehearsal time they’d been putting off. 

(She’d been pretending there was no kissing scene, and Mr. Whitefeather seemed perfectly willing to let Grant believe that.)

So she needed another male lead, someone who was truly able to make her shine. 

And so far, the only boy (man?) who had been able to get near her level in this production had been Nathaniel Plimpton the Third. They’d danced together as if they’d been meant to do this show - as if it was some kind of destiny. 

No, not logical enough. Take a step back, Rebecca. 

They’d performed well together, and a show with her headlining alongside Nathaniel was sure to garner a ton of buzz, bringing all the right people into the room where it would happen. 

Those people needed to be in that room for her to achieve her goal: the scholarships. Therefore she needed Nathaniel in that room as well. No one else measured up - it had to be him. Logic said so. 

Since his father had dragged Nathaniel away, she had to find a way to get him back in the show. She was not going to convince Plimpton Senior - she knew her powers and skills, and they were not going to work against that tyrant - but she knew she held a certain sway over Nathaniel. 

He’d wanted her before. Surely, that hadn’t gone away. Her wanting him hadn’t. 

But that was not logical. The logical approach was to use this weakness against him by offering him what he wanted if he just did the show with her. Of course he would say yes if she offered him everything he’d wanted before and undoubtedly still wanted now. 

No matter how pathetic it was of him. 

Well, pathetic or not, it was what was going to set her on the road to her many future Tony Awards, to the career of her dreams. And it was what had driven her to seek him out at the Plimpton mansion. 

She hadn’t needed to bribe anyone. She’d just brought the housekeeper some delicious noodle kugel - the gossip at temple was that the woman had a secret sweet tooth - and gossiped with her for a while. And then, when she was supposed to leave out the back door, she instead stuck upstairs. 

It took her about three tries, but she managed to locate Nathaniel’s room. And he wasn’t in it, which was disappointing for about three seconds until she figured out that she could prep for her plan much more efficiently that way. 

After all, her “good little Jewish girl” dress was not going to impress or seduce Nathaniel. No, she’d have to change, set the right mood for this transaction. 

Because that was all it was, a mere transaction. One that would make sure she had the future she wanted. 

And she was still kind of attracted to him, so she wouldn’t mind any of the things he wanted to do to her. Or with her. 

So she slipped out of the dress and into the black slip that had reminded her so much of her Chicago-infused dream. She moves quickly and surely, not wanting to risk Nathaniel entering his room to see her halfway through the process. 

Sure, the ensuite bathroom was an option, but it felt too much like hiding. Like if she were still in there when Nathaniel showed up, she’d just keep hiding and wait him out. 

Not that she was scared. Maybe a little nervous now that her logical side was having trouble keeping a hold of her entire brain, but that was to be expected. 

She had prepared, and she had prepared well. She was ready - well, she would be ready if she could finish the vixen makeup in time. It made her feel sultrier, and that was totally going to help with the seducing. 

Her lips were painted deep, vixen red, and her wide eyes are rimmed with mascara. Her hands were no longer shaking as she finished applying the last layer of makeup. 

Then, she heard footsteps in the hallway. Her heart pounded and she almost held her breath as she listened closely - were they approaching this room or was the person in question moving further away? It did seem like the footsteps were getting closer. 

With a quick kick to make sure her bag was hidden under the gigantic bed, she looked around frantically to find the best place to strike an enticing pose. 

Ugh, what would be a good enticing pose? She really sucked at this, even though she was great at talking a big game about it. 

Maybe something that showed off her epic cleavage? She’d always managed to distract Nathaniel that way when she tried it before. Men really were simple creatures, and her boobs really were excellent. She almost didn’t blame him. 

Yep, those footsteps were really heading towards this room, and she had to make a decision about her position right freaking now. Her frazzled mind decided for her, and so she leaned against the door to the bathroom and waited for the door to open. 

This had better be Nathaniel himself - and he’d better be alone. 

The door opened slowly and then all at once, and she was faced with a sweaty Nathaniel who’d clearly just been working out. He closed the door behind him immediately and had already pulled his tank off when he saw her. 

“What the fuck?” he hissed, careful not to be too loud even in his surprise. “Bunch?” 

She pretended like she wasn’t disheartened by his use of her last name. She’d grown to appreciate him using her first name - she could still hear him say it if she really focused on how his voice sounded before it all went to hell and he left his princess behind, glass slippers and all. 

“Hello Nathaniel,” she drew out every syllable of his name. 

Goosebumps appeared on his skin as she did so - she really did have a hold over him after all. And it was so easy to see when he was only wearing shorts. She really hoped they were the thin kind again, she’d enjoyed that. 

Next he noticed just what she was wearing on her visit to his bedroom. His reaction was probably even better than the one he’d had to her costume. This time he started at the ground, going up her stockings until he lingered briefly at the sliver of bare skin between the stocking and the soft black slip that barely reached her thighs. 

After he got a second to take a breath, his eyes moved further upwards, following the lines of that slip until he was faced with the parts of her that had always distracted him: her breasts, pushed up so good that it was almost impossible for him to look away. 

He managed eventually, only to finally look her in the eyes. His own blue eyes were dark and stormy - she’d certainly managed to get his attention. 

“Fuck, Rebecca,” he’d finally emerged from his stupor. 

“That’s the idea,” she smiled teasingly. 

Finally she stepped closer to him. By instinct, he took a step back. And then another, and another, until he practically fell back onto his big bed. 

Yes, she could use that. She liked that. 

“I have to be dreaming,” Nathaniel was babbling nonsensically. 

She watched him pinch his strong forearm, and as he waited for the vision of his dreams to disappear (thanks for the compliment there), she looked down at him and waited as well. 

“Not dreaming,” he confirmed. 

“You’re wide awake,” she agreed, impatient to get to it already. “Now…” 

They didn’t actually have that much time left before the premiere, and she needs them to get it on so they can just get on with the show. Nathaniel was a quick study, he’d pick up on the last small changes they’d made quickly and efficiently (the same ones that Graham had never been able to get). 

Now he just had to get with the program already. 

“What are you doing here?” he was weary, almost harsh. 

“I need you,” she pouts a little, trying to make him look at her mouth. “I need your talent.” 

Slowly she let herself drop down into his lap, straddling him - well that certainly got his attention in more ways than one. 

She ran a finger down his chest, following one particularly fascinating bead of sweat all the way down to the edge of his shorts. He was warm and solid, and he still looked like he was going to rip that flimsy little teddy off her (quite possibly with his teeth). It was no wonder that she felt herself heating up as well. 

“Rebecca,” he groaned. 

He already sounded tempted to say just about anything if she’d just keep going, which was exactly what she wanted. For him to do what she wanted, not the continuing. Well, maybe it was both. She was a healthy teenage girl after all. 

Couldn’t he just say yes already so they could make out? 

“I know you want me,” she teased. 

Her fingernails, painted bright red because bad girls wore red nail polish, gently scraped at the soft hairs at his nape. She felt the resulting shiver go down his body and tried to keep herself from grinding into his lap. 

Logic was a little difficult to follow at this point, but she just had to hold out for a little while longer. When he said yes, she could stop overthinking everything and just go for it. 

Holding off seemed so difficult when his face was right there, with those soft lips that had already shown her a good time once or twice. 

Kissing him in the name of persuasion tactics was absolutely allowed. 

Finally she’d found a position in which she did not need to look up so much to reach for him - her neck would thank her. 

Slowly she pulled him closer, kissing him softly and lazily. They could forget about everything else for a little bit maybe, just as long as they kept kissing just like this. 

A slow warmth started to fill her, then suddenly speeding up as his right hand found an anchor on her waist, almost burning hot through her thin clothes. What would it be like to have those big hands on her bare skin? 

As she held back a second just to catch her breath, she was just about to let that thought sink in when Nathaniel kissed her jaw, and then her neck. It was wet and dirty and he used a hint of teeth as he tried to mark her fair skin. 

And she tried to pretend that it wasn’t turning her on so hard. 

But that thought was too much, so she pulled his mouth back to hers just so they could kiss some more, his left hand cheekily moving to grab her ass. She let it happen, let herself grind into him. She wanted this stupid, ridiculous boy. 

“Nathaniel,” his name slipped out as more of a plea than a command to just keep going. 

In response, a smirk started to play on his features, but before she had a chance to scold him for it, he’d kissed her again. He nipped at her bottom lip, making her gasp, before getting right back to kissing her as if he was starving for her.

She would have let him continue into eternity if that cheeky right hand of his hadn’t moved up from its place on her waist to try and grope her chest. That was enough of a distraction to snap her back into logic. 

“Not just yet,” she gently slapped his hand away. “I have a proposition for you first.” 

Of course he was immediately suspicious of her and her proposition - that was just in his nature, and in the nature of the game of push and pull they’d been playing for the past few months. She’d just have to seduce him back into the right mood. 

A kiss on the corner of his mouth had him turn his head in her direction, immediately ready to forget her words and just keep kissing on his bed. 

“If you return to the show,” she softly pulled at his earlobe with her teeth, “I will let you do anything you want to me. And I mean anything.” 

She pulled back to see his response to that, watching one particular thought cross his mind on his very expressive face. 

“Yes, that,” she promised. “Whatever just crossed your mind: we’ll do that.” 

He was tempted, that much was sure. She could feel just how tempted he was, and if she just kept going like they’d been going before, she was sure that she could get the right answer out of him. 

And find out what he’d been thinking about. 

So she could prepare, of course. Not because she was actually curious - or intrigued or interested. 

She kissed him again, knowing it would keep him just a little off-balance, and more likely to agree to her demands. If he could just get over his pride and agree, he could have everything he wanted - he liked being the lead in this show. She’d seen it time and time again, even when he referred to everyone in the cast as losers. 

He liked playing a part - and he was damn good it. It made so much more sense now that she’d met his father. Of course Nathaniel had gotten good at slipping in and out of character. She wondered if he’d ever gotten the chance to really be himself before. 

But that was too heavy a thought when he was kissing her back with such desperate enthusiasm, one hand making its way under her slip to caress the bare skin of her thighs. Her breath caught in her throat, her muscles tensed, waiting for that hand to move, to push the boundaries once again. 

Gently, he made patterns on the skin of her thighs, trying to get her used to those warm hands on her skin. 

Why was he so gentle about this? Wasn’t he supposed to attempt to tear off her clothes and just get to it? That was what she’d prepared for. 

“Say yes,” she whispered in his ear, trying to distract him into complying. 

“Rebecca,” her name tasted lovely on his lips. 

Pulling him close again, she ignored how her lips were getting slightly swollen from all the kissing and how the thong she’d chosen had ridden right up her butt. Ugh, thongs were the absolute worst. 

“What are you doing, Rebecca?” Nathaniel’s voice was hoarse but sincere. 

“The show needs you,” she huffed, annoyed at the lack of his usual perceptiveness. “I figured out a way to make you want to come back.” 

Nathaniel paled then, gently pushing her away from him and onto her own two feet. This was suddenly not going at all like she’d planned it. 

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Rebecca! Do you even want to have sex with me?” 

Was this an ego thing? Men were so fragile. 

“Of course I want to have intercourse,” she looked down at him. 

She was kind of nervous about it, but she was sure she’d enjoy it. Maybe not so sure that she was actually ready. 

“Your overly formal wording tells me otherwise,” Nathaniel looked almost soft, almost gentle as he slowly got back on his feet. “So you need to put your clothes back on, because I can’t think when you look like that.” 

Well, at least that was flattering. The rest of it, she just couldn’t understand. Why was he making her put her clothes back on when he was about to get everything he wanted? 

“Thanks?” she was just so confused. 

“I can’t come back,” he tried to explain, but even that didn’t make sense. “I’m not allowed to leave the house because I make bad decisions. I have to respect that.” 

Was he even hearing what he was saying? He was an eighteen year old adult and his father did not allow him out of the house because he’d made friends and pursued one interest that his father did not approve of. 

Bad decisions? Letting himself get forced into being in Cinderella might have been one of the best things this idiot had ever done. But of course if Satan did not see it that way, Nathaniel was not allowed to disagree. 

What a mess this family was. What a mess Nathaniel was - he didn’t even see how messed up this was, explaining this as if it were something completely logical. 

“You’re an idiot,” she angrily yanked the stupid good girl dress back on. “You could have everything you want. You just don’t want it enough. You can’t let yourself be happy.” 

She couldn’t listen to him saying anything else. 

As she angrily exited the house, she marveled at the idiot she’d left behind. How could he accept his own unhappiness like that? 

* * *

He’d really wanted to go to the aquarium - it was like a zoo for fishies - but he’d only just been allowed out of the house for things that weren’t school. The aquarium was probably too big of a risk. So the zoo it was.

At least the zoo was always there for him. They’d missed him these past few weeks, had said so when he showed his membership card at the entrance - not that they needed to see it anymore. They knew his face, knew to expect him whenever possible. 

Here, it seemed like people actually liked him - something he was sorely lacking anywhere else. 

After what happened in his room, not even Rebecca wanted to be around him anymore. Not that he wanted her to be around. Not at all. 

He tried to shake off the denial, tried to shake off the memories, but it was no use. 

_ Rebecca.  _

Her plan had been… something else. He was trying hard not to say or think something pejorative, but it had definitely been outside the normal bounds of expectation. 

Why did she think that what she was doing was okay? Why would she do that to herself, to him? Why would she think so poorly of him? He was suspicious by nature - it had practically been bred into his genes - and there was no way he wasn’t going to question the sudden renewal of her interest in him. 

And when he knew, there was no way that he could go through with it. 

Not like this, he’d thought, and hated himself just a little more. Because when did he develop something resembling a conscience? 

Okay, maybe he wasn’t actually the devil, but he’d been perfectly fine with using girls for sex before. And it wouldn’t have been his first time with a virgin either - he could see it in Rebecca, he wasn’t stupid - so why did it matter this time? 

It couldn’t just be because it was Rebecca. She wasn’t special, she might have been a bigger mess than he was. She wasn’t the most beautiful girl in school, and while she was one of the smartest people in their school the only superlative she could call her own would be Most Dramatic. 

So what was it that made her different? What was it that made him… care? 

Just thinking the word was enough. He really hoped he hadn’t displayed any outward signs of caring for her, because not only would his father actually lock him inside the house until he saw sense, Rebecca herself would use that perceived weakness against him in a heartbeat. Because she just thought that he was convenient and talented and kind of hot. 

She was right about that - and the hot part helped silence some of the voices that had caused him to hang over the toilet a few times last week. Nothing had happened, but he’d been so close to relapsing that he’d terrified himself a little. 

But at least someone still thought that he was appealing. 

Self pity was pathetic, he knew that, but that was why he was at the zoo. To get all of this out of his system so that he could back to his old life and be awesome again. Once he left this place for the day, he would be the best version of himself again. 

He would be someone his father could be proud of, forgetting all about how he’d almost enjoyed playing prince charming in that stupid show. Yeah, he was just going to shove those thoughts and feelings back down in the mental box in which he kept all of the things he wasn’t supposed to feel. 

It was not going to be easy, he knew that, but it was the right thing to do. 

Before he got back to the real world, though, he was going to enjoy his day at the zoo, the sun beating down on him and the animals happily lazing about in their habitats. He could even grab a smoothie later. 

His decision made, he headed in the direction of the monkey habitats - he could use a look in their almost human eyes. 

A flash of warm brown curls in the corner of his eyes startled him. Wait, was that? 

Of course it wasn’t. She would never be at the zoo - she wasn’t the animal type. She was probably too busy trying to teach that Greg guy all of his moves and lines. Yeah, there was no way that he’d actually seen Rebecca in the crowd. 

Besides, she wasn’t the only person in the San Diego area who had hair like that. It was just his mind messing with him, because he hadn’t seen her around much. She’d been avoiding him since the incident at his house - not that he’d attempted to seek her out or anything. 

It was not like he missed her, or anything. Because that would mean that he cared, and he’d already established that he didn’t care about anyone. 

The crowd shifted again, and once again he saw the girl with the curls, closer now than she was before. She wasn’t all that tall, so he really had to work to see her. 

He just wanted to be sure that it wasn’t Rebecca. 

The girl’s (woman’s?) walk seemed familiar, and that fact alone made him worry. He hadn’t been paying that much attention to Bunch, right? 

“Nathaniel,” her voice reached him even through the inane chats going on around him. 

“Bunch,” he tried to be emotionless, to be cold. 

This was how it would have to be in the future. A good Plimpton son could not be seen being so kind to a random dramatic classmate, could not say her name with actual emotion in his voice. His father never talked to his mother with any warmth in his voice, at least not that he’d ever heard. His son had to follow that example, and it wasn’t like Bunch mattered to him now that he was no longer in the show, so it was completely possible for him to move the hell on and treat her with cold civility. 

Really, he shouldn’t even be thinking about her this much, but since his father had yet to find a device that would actually read his mind, he was mostly focused on curtailing the outward signs of any kind of affection. 

“Oh, so we’re doing that again,” she was ever too perceptive. 

“What do you want?” he got straight to the point. “Why are you here? I thought you only ever stalked Chan.” 

Hitting the raw nerve right away - that meant that she’d end up getting angry with him very quickly, which meant that she was going to leave him the hell alone soon. They could re-establish the old normal where he was an asshole and she was a drama queen and they never really interacted, and then she would go. 

“Have you ever heard of the word coincidence?” Bunch huffed. 

“Not in reference to you,” he retorted. 

The meaner he was, the sooner she would let go of this ridiculous idea that he could still come back to the show and fix everything. The sooner she would let go of him - or was that just wishful thinking, that she’d wanted to hold on to him at all? 

All she cared about was her revenge on Chan and the damn show. He had to remember that, had to keep reminding himself. 

Because he did not care about her. He was just going to find a nice girl here at the zoo and use her to get right back to his scheming and womanizing ways. It could not be called a rebound when there was nothing to rebound from, right? 

“Nathaniel,” she just had to say his name again. 

Even hissed through her teeth, it still had an effect on him. She still had an effect on him, but he could hide that with a smirk and a well-placed barb. There was no way that she could see through that. 

He just had to keep believing that, even though she’d managed to see past most of his heavy walls so far. Maybe this one could be another blindspot. She’d hardly believed it was possible for him to have feelings at first - she could do that again. 

“If you’re just here to repeat your offer from last time,” he let the words trail off. 

A brief look of hurt on her face was quickly replaced with a scornful glare. He’d been overly dismissive on purpose, and it had worked. Good. 

Or was it? 

“Just the part about wanting you back,” she bit at him, her tone in sharp contrast to her kind words. “But I see that it’s offensive to you.” 

Not offensive to him, but to his father. And that was the person whose happiness mattered most of all in this tangled up equation that was his life. 

“God forbid you do something that makes you happy,” she muttered, not soft enough for him not to overhear her. 

All the air went out of him, because she had a point and he hated that. 

He wasn’t happy - didn’t really remember the feeling all that well, but that was just… the price he paid to live a privileged life with more than enough money to get him everything he ever wanted. The price he paid to keep his father happy and maybe one day even proud of him. 

That was the dream. 

“We could use you,” her face was softer now, warmer than before. “You were a good prince charming, for the son of the devil.” 

Father wasn’t actually Satan, but it didn’t completely surprise him that some people made the comparison. Some of the things he’d heard about concerning the firm had scared him a little, and to contemplate his father being behind those things… it wasn’t that it was hard to reconcile those things with the man he called Father, it was that it was terrifying that one day he would be required to do the very same things. 

But that was the darkest timeline he really did not want to consider at this moment. 

“Rebecca,” he tried to chide, gently. 

“Nathaniel,” she was almost smiling. “You should come back. Those losers are nothing without you, you know that.” 

She was using the word losers almost as if it were a pet name now, and maybe in a way it was. The rest of the cast was not terrible, and though he’d hesitate to call anyone his friend, he had grown to like them just a little. 

They’d grown on him like a fungus, Rebecca most of all. 

He could not keep reminiscing and dreaming with her - he needed some time to compose himself before he was due back home. His curfew was a bit stricter than usual these days. 

“You’ll keep them in line,” he released the breath that had been caught in his throat. 

It was time to pull his walls back up - somehow she’d managed to knock them all down again in these past few minutes. He could not leave this place so weak, so vulnerable. He could not be at his house when his every emotion was written all over his face. 

Time to turn back time into before this show. As if it had never happened. 

“Time to go back to being an asshole?” she quirked an eyebrow. 

Of course she’d seen right through him again. It wasn’t the first time she’d done it, but he was sure that it would have to be the last time. 

“I never stopped,” he shrugged. 

She laughed then, slyly agreeing with him. It was nice to see her happy one last time, before he went back to hardly seeing her at all. They’d come far, but it was time to go back to the start. 

“Neither did I,” a smile on her face and her skin glowing. 

He waited for her to turn around and leave, but it seemed like she wasn’t willing to step back quite yet. She held out her arms, wide open, a smile still on her face. How could he do anything but accept what she was so happily offering?

His arms easily wrapped around her waist, the higher arm landing over her shoulder blades - he forgot how small she could seem sometimes. She was soft and warm and pressed against him, unable to stop her hands from moving back and forth over his back and shoulder blades. 

In response he started gently rubbing his upper hand up and down her back. His nose was tickled by a stray curl and he caught the scent of her hair. Filled with warmth from his toes to the top of his head, he burrowed his face into the crook of her neck. She smelled of vanilla and cherries and sunlight. 

Ugh, that was ridiculous, why would he even think that? Sunlight was not a smell. 

Still he wouldn’t let her go, and she wouldn’t let him move away. Her hands gently moving, he felt the stress and exhaustion drain from his tightly locked muscles. 

Was this what happiness felt like? Because this moment, this was what Patronuses were made of. 

But every moment of happiness had to end, and they’d already been clinging to each other for far too long in a very public zoo. People were staring and whispering, and if he kept on holding her he was going to find it impossible to let go. 

Somehow her drama queen tendencies had rubbed off on him. 

Reluctantly he finally untangled himself from Rebecca and took a step back. He tried to get him composure back, somehow, but it was slow-going and difficult. 

At least she seemed equally reluctant to leave - she did give a damn, after all. She smiled at him, only this time it was slightly sadder. 

“Goodbye Nathaniel,” her warmth was surrounding him still, somehow. 

“Goodbye Rebecca,” he returned, watching her walk away with a sway in her step. 

He barked out a laugh, because of course she knew that he’d be watching her leave and she was playing up on her charms like the drama queen she was. 

Oh, Rebecca. He’d miss her. 

Soon she had disappeared from his line of sight. He finally moved on to the monkey habitats and stared into their almost familiar eyes. He passed Panda Canyon and nodded a greeting at Ron, who was hard at work as usual. 

Sadly, he had no time to chat if he wanted to see all of his favorites and still make it home in time for his new curfew. 

When he arrived at his favorite place in the zoo to see the cheetahs, he allowed himself a few minutes to just sit down and look at the animals in peace. It would give him time to think, time to reminisce about how nice it had felt to be holding Rebecca and to be held by her in return. 

Thinking about what he’d come home to would only bring the frustration back. He’d followed the rules, had tried to make his father proud of him. Would nothing ever be enough? Was nothing he did the right thing? 

That hug had been the right thing. Aligning himself with the losers had felt like the wrong thing at the time, but had turned out to be something good. Maybe his father disagreed, but he was starting to feel like it hadn’t been a mistake. 

He had to be his best, had to be the best version of himself. 

Maybe being his best self did not mean being the perfect son after all. Maybe being his best self meant that he had to let himself be happy for a little while. Maybe being his best self meant defying his father and surrounding himself with the losers again. 

It made sense that being his best self would involve Rebecca. 

He just hoped that it wasn’t too late. 

* * *

It was their first full run through of the show, with all the props and costumes finished, and damn Gavin still did not know his damn lines!

Mr. Whitefeather actually was actually waiting in the wings with all the necessary prompts just to make sure that everyone else could just keep going. She was just exhausted from all the extra rehearsals that didn’t even seem to have much of an effect - and watching her dreams for the future go down the drain was getting more painful by the day. 

She still wished that Nathaniel would change his mind about coming back, but she knew that it was in vain. They were so close to the show’s premiere now, there was no more time for him to come to a decision.

Every time she had seen Nathaniel in the halls in the past week (a total of three times), he’d been back to his old, asshole self, roaming the halls alone with a superior, haughty look on his face. She hadn’t seen him flirting with other girls, but she’d heard stories from the rumor mill that the old Nathaniel Plimpton was back. 

Not that she’d bothered to talk to him, or even to let him see her. No, she went for the avoidance route - it would sting to see him with other girls, to see him act like nothing had ever happened between the two of them. That was just an ego thing, because nothing that had happened with Nathaniel had actually meant something to her. 

It did not matter that she could not stop thinking about that hug and how he’d buried his face in the curve of her neck, about how warm and solid he’d been and how safe and comforted that had made her feel. It did not matter that they’d both been equally reluctant to let go of each other, that she’d actually felt him relax while she held him. It did not matter because it couldn’t actually mean anything. 

Had it just been mere weeks when she couldn’t stop thinking about Josh Chan and getting her revenge on him? It felt like it had been in another life when Josh Chan had been her soulmate - or at least, when she thought he was her ticket to a happily ever after. 

What did it say about her that she’d so quickly moved on from Josh to sharing pieces of herself with Nathaniel? It said that she was fickle in her affections, that she could drop even a soulmate like that. 

Unless it hadn’t actually been about Josh, and Josh hadn’t actually been a soulmate as much as an ideal. It was a thought that kept reappearing in her head these days, that she knew now that Josh Chan was never supposed to be the one for her. But it was when she examined what she’d liked about him in the first place that she found the worst of herself. 

She had been obsessed with him, tracking him all over time and conveniently running into his mother at the supermarket on the other side of town just so they could establish a rapport - it was important to get along with your future mother-in-law. She’d been there when his sister chose a prom dress - all because Paula was an amazing spy who knew where every member of the Chan family was at all times. She’d made every member of the Chan family love her but Josh. 

But when she examined why she’d loved Josh so deeply, all her reasons came off either as shallow or as something idealized that had nothing to do with Josh Chan. He was super cute and buff, and his smile was adorable - that was all shallow stuff that she tried really hard not to condemn herself for. He was popular without being a dick about it, and he was surrounded by friends and people who thought that he was awesome. He had a family that he was close with and who supported him in everything. She wanted those things, wanted them pathetically and desperately - and Josh Chan was her ticket to that happiness. 

He’d been kind to her when she was in middle school and they’d taken a dance class together - and she drew it completely out of proportion by being obsessed with him for five whole years. 

There was something seriously wrong with her, and that realization was chilling. 

While her thoughts got progressively darker, she’d just been going through the motions of the show. She’d played her part and said all of the words that she was supposed to say, because she was a professional. 

She’d sat in her own little corner while she hid in her own little corner of her mind, and now they were rapidly heading towards the ball. It used to be one of her favorite scenes to perform, but now it was the scene she dreaded most - it required every bit of her acting ability to sell this scene to the audience. 

“No, Graham,” Mr. Whitefeather interrupted them again. “Just hold the script for now, until you start dancing. You keep missing your cue.” 

Because of that. 

Also, because he kept stepping on her toes in every rehearsal, and she’d started flinching in advance before they even started moving because he’d done it every single time. It didn’t exactly sell romance if she flinched away from her prince charming, right? 

Her smile was still glued on despite Mr. Whitefeather’s intermittent shouts of frustration, because she was a good actress, damn it. They should give out Tony Awards for people who’d been stuck with incompetent partners and still managed to put on a good show. And she’d more than earned hers in the last few weeks. 

Trying not to let her sheer exhaustion show was another added level of difficulty. They were running through the scenes leading up to the ball, and all she wanted was to get out of here and just curl up and have a nap somewhere. 

She could really use a damn nap, seeing as how she’d been running on about four or five hours of sleep every night for the past two weeks. It was starting to catch up to her - the more tired she got, the easier it was for the bad thoughts to start creeping in. 

They reached the ball scene, and all she wanted was for Nathaniel to show up, having magically changed his mind. Or time travel - for this to just fast forward until it was all done and she’d made her way to New York. That way she didn’t have to get through the epic fight with her mother either. 

Because that was definitely still coming. 

“Just drop the script,” Mr. Whitefeather yelled over the rising music. “You can’t dance with your mystery girl if you keep holding that script.” 

It took him much too long to react, so instead of waiting around for her scene partner yet again, she threw the script off stage and waited for this idiot to ask her to dance. 

And she continued to wait just a few seconds too long, so that they started their movements at the wrong count in the music, and immediately bumped into one of the other couples on the stage. Luckily for her, her dress took most of the impact, but Giles fell on his ass. 

Good. It was all his fault anyway. 

“Okay, once again from the start of the dance,” Coach Wilson rallied his team, as Mr. Whitefeather had dropped his head onto a table. “Everyone get in position.” 

At least Coach Wilson could be counted on for some subtle encouragement - he probably knew the show better than the male lead at this point, and he kept them supplied with healthy snacks to keep them from crashing during the lengthy rehearsals. Especially after that one time earlier this week where she almost fainted. Something about no sleep and barely any food could do that to a person. 

Plus, he was kind of a judgmental asshole when he thought that the students weren’t listening. That was everything she needed to make her feel better when the prince was more like a toad. 

So she got back in position, hoping this would be the last time they’d have to restart. It was a full run through for a reason. She’d do the damn dance alone if she had to. 

“Mind if I cut in?” a familiar, slightly hoarse voice coming from behind her.

She whirled around, unsure if one of Geoffrey’s many mistakes had caused her to hit her head somehow and she now had a concussion. This voice was certainly a very convincing auditory hallucination. 

No one else seemed to have responded so frantically to the voice. Everyone else was just continuing with the scene, getting into position as if nothing had happened. So clearly this was all in her head - not that it meant that it couldn’t be real, but still. She’d probably made it happen with sheer force of will, because she couldn’t do it any longer. 

Maybe she had to go make that appointment with Dr. Akopian after all. 

“Rebecca,” he said, still speaking softly. “Watch where you’re throwing that dress.” 

When whirling around, the force of her dress had almost knocked him off balance, but there he was. Nathaniel Plimpton the Third, in the flesh. He wasn’t wearing his costume, but he looked picture perfect apart from that. 

Since his replacement was still on the floor, muttering to himself, it was easy to turn to Nathaniel and let him be her prince. 

He still knew all of the steps by heart, she noticed as he bent over her head to kiss it. Once again, he didn’t fake the gesture, and she warmed. 

“Nathaniel!” she whispered, trying not to disturb the scene. 

How did no one else notice this? She’d swapped princes and everyone was still in their show must go on mindset, ignoring anything else that was happening. Or she was dreaming, but her dreams weren’t usually this accurate. 

“Let’s dance, Rebecca,” his posture was still ridiculously good. 

This was what it was supposed to be like, she remembered as she let him lead her around the floor without even once stepping on her toes. She could trust him to make sure that she was in the right spot at the right time, and she could trust that he’d hold her close in his arms even though it wasn’t strictly necessary. 

As they twirled around the floor, she could see that some of the other cast members were starting to take notice of her much taller prince, whispering amongst themselves as they all kept dancing. No one wanted to break this spell. 

Even when it came to the final moments of the dance, when she just had to release herself into his strong grip, she had no troubles whatsoever, even though she’d landed on the floor once or twice when his understudy attempted this feat. She just knew that Nathaniel would catch her, and she just really wanted to be in his arms again. 

It was pathetic and weak, but it was the very sad truth. 

At least he enjoyed it too, she noticed as she pressed herself as close to him as she possibly could, slowly letting him lift her up into a standing position, standing way too close to be proper at a real royal ball. 

But this was theater, darling, and they could get away with it. 

“Nathaniel Plimpton,” Mr. Whitefeather came running as the final notes of the song played. “I take this to mean that you have changed your mind about appearing in this production?” 

Sure, that kind of burst the little bubble they had going on, but she didn’t care as long as he just said yes. If this was just a trick, she might actually murder him. 

Maybe she could put on a production of Chicago behind bars? 

“Apparently you losers need me,” Nathaniel spoke to her and to her only. 

At least, he just did not stop looking at her, even though they were now surrounded by the rest of the cast and he was technically responding to Mr. Whitefeather’s question. 

His eyes were so soft again, and she could feel herself starting to smile in return. He was acting like prince charming in real life as well now, saving her and the entire show from the dreaded understudy. He was kind and barely even looking at her boobs, which was another major sign that she was in serious trouble. 

Okay, this was getting a little too intimate, and that was bad. Time to fix everything and get back to work. She could totally be professional about this. 

“You’re fired, George,” she rushed to say it before Mr. Whitefeather could offer to make any other arrangement out of pity. 

If Mr. Whitefeather did not agree with this, she was absolutely going to refuse to perform unless it was with Nathaniel. She’d worked herself to the bone in these past few weeks, and if she had to go on like this for much longer, she might actually crack. 

“You got my name right,” the boy was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Wait, fired?”

So wait, his name was George? Then why had he been responding to every other name she’d thrown at him like it was his own? Those kinds of identity issues were kind of bad. 

“Look, George,” Mr. Whitefeather was finally using the right name too. “As the understudy, you play the part when the lead isn’t available. Nathaniel is available again, so you won’t be playing the prince. But I am sure we could use your help backstage. We still need someone to help me greet people. We need a good host.” 

Wow, nice sweet talking there, mister Whitefeather. 

It was a good enough distraction, and she watched the world’s most dreadful understudy walk away from the scene of all the worst of his crimes. She felt nothing but relief when she looked at him go, and then she looked back at Nathaniel. 

They were still standing a bit too close, and she had to make an effort to break that connection. She couldn’t keep hogging him, after all. 

Suddenly she had to share Nathaniel with the entire cast - everyone was so happy to see that he was back, and even though Valencia gave him some grief for leaving them all hanging until the Saturday before tech week, that was all quickly resolved. 

“So, not your boyfriend is back,” Heather sidled up to her. 

“He’s not my - oh,” she quit halfway through her quick reply. 

Somehow the period dress didn’t look all that weird on Heather - she just managed to make everything work with an ease that was enviable. Yes, she was totally jealous of how Heather didn’t care about most things that made her riddled with anxiety. 

“I wonder why he came back,” Valencia joined them as well. “It sure wasn’t just out of the kindness of his heart. He’s an asshole.” 

Immediately Heather and Valencia were holding hands. It didn’t last very long, but she saw it happen, and it made her smile. Her friends had found happiness even in the high school jungle - and they’d gotten close because of this show. Mr. Whitefeather had done a pretty good job playing Cupid not only himself, but for his students as well. 

“I’m an asshole,” she said, trying hard not to defend Nathaniel too much. 

“And so is Valencia,” Heather shrugged, not even bothered. 

“Heinous bitch is the term used most often,” Valencia corrected, shrugging off the insult. 

She still felt the urge to defend Nathaniel a little, telling her friends that he came back because he liked it here - he even liked the people. But no one would be very happy about that, least of all Nathaniel. He probably wanted to continue to talk a big game about being better than the losers and not liking anyone ever. 

He was not going to change - did she want him to? Did it matter what she wanted? 

Ugh, why was she even still thinking about stupid Nathaniel? 

“Rebecca,” there was the annoying boy man himself. 

“Nathaniel,” she was unsure of where this was going. 

Clearly there was something that he wanted to say to her out of earshot of these extremely nosy people - and she was not sure if she was ready to hear it. This seemed like a moment for either emotional declarations or him trying to talk about what she’d offered him if he were to come back. 

And of course she still wanted to have sex with him. That totally wasn’t the issue with him possibly taking her up on her offer. It was just… Was she ready now? She didn’t know. 

But she’d promised, so… 

“Go talk,” Valencia didn’t use air quotes on principle, but these were audible. 

“Don’t make out where we can see you,” Heather followed. 

That made her laugh, because of course it did. Heather continued to be a gift. 

Nathaniel had found a quiet corner backstage where they could talk without being overheard by the peanut gallery. She followed, the voluminous skirts of her dress making it less than easy to maneuver in any kind of subtle manner. But she did her best. 

“So, you came back after all,” she couldn’t handle the silence. 

“I did,” he acknowledged, seeming unsure somehow. “Just don’t tell these losers that I actually like doing this.” 

The joke seemed off somehow, too easy or overdone. Was this what emotional intimacy felt like? Because she didn’t like it - it made her feel way too vulnerable and anxious. 

There was nothing she could say to this really, just another tired bit of banter, but she was too exhausted to try and be funny. At this point, she was just about ready to fall over onto the nearest reasonably soft surface and sleep for days.

“I don’t expect anything,” he broke the silence. “I just thought you should know that. I didn’t come back for that.” 

Was this rejection or him letting her off the hook? She just couldn’t tell anymore, trying to stifle a long yawn that felt like it had been coming for ages. Her legs were a little wobbly, and with the weight of the gown she almost felt like she was being pulled down. 

“Are you okay?” Nathaniel reached for her. 

“So tired,” she muttered, letting herself be caught. “Have been rehearsing so much. No sleep.” 

She felt his chest rumbling with laughter and he just let her lean on him for a bit, here where no one could see. 

“Glad it’s not that you find me boring,” he whispered teasingly. 

Then, there was a loud crash, startling everyone, but her most of all. Half of their beautiful and detailed castle set pieces had broken apart and fallen on the ground. A lot of it was in pieces. Someone was going to need to fix that within a week. 

“Why does this stuff keep happening?” Mr. Whitefeather was not amused. 

Well, it looked like she was going to have some time for that nap. 

 


End file.
